Tuesday, July 13, 2010
If I see him take another hit
And pathetically jot down lines of verse
He’s going to find a concoction of Purina and stomach
Acid on his dockers.
I was having better ideas when I came out
Of the womb shitting on the doctor.
Perhaps humankind isn’t so enviable –
More regressive. Pathetic.
Fame? How can such an asshole find happiness with
A trail of octopus ink he can’t even find?
His apathy induced euphoria sits stale at the fact –
The intended effect, upon focus always lies in favor
Of its arch-enemy
Even all the kittens, freshly baked and
Still warm at the core
Know that happiness and meaning never
Coincide unless you…
Wait – thumbs?
What the fuck? Did I just tweet?
Where am I?
Is that salvia?