Ill'd Ego to Err
I’m waiting for the smuggler’s moon to make my move.
Until then, I just want to deliquesce;
turn off my bed and sleep in my TV.
And dream of walking on grass every time I’ve the chance
before it all slips away in a concrete glance.
This planet is too beautiful for people.
I’m going to do my part
and scrape the fuck off of it.
…transforming every forever in a row…
That’s how I roll. Right into traffic.
But you?
You’re like the new Aleister Costello.
Nothing to be proud of.
Crowley was a pretentious faggot.
And I wanna punch Elvis in the ball bag.
Hard.
You’re all not-so-closet drama queens
in these Nazi vomit Obama dreams.
And the director is fucking crazy.
Are you going to the mass shooting on Friday night?
I won’t be able to attend.
I’ll be philosophizing with my daughter during a nice walk
on the other side of the country.
We couldn’t keep thinking like that any longer.
After a long day
of breaking down
dried-up
sludge encrusted
cardboard boxes
in a dark
dust ridden
murklorn warehouse
singing
"T’aint no sin
to take off your skin
and dance around
in your bones.”
Amen and goddamn.
The media makes me want to rape everything too.
I just don’t do it.
God said:
“You are so alone.”
Yeah,
I know for a fact
that when I die
and I go back to the In-between
to review my life,
I’m going to sigh….
I should have fucked all of them.
“You could have, you know.”
Goddamn it, fuck you. God, damn yourself.
Masturbation for the heavens, I guess.
But that’s it. I’m not going to have a tragic temper tantrum.
I’m just going to bitch and moan until I get back to the In-between.
And when I do go back there to review my life,
It better be edited like a YouTube Poop video, or I’m not watching.
You may be asking yourself, “Is this art?”
Yes. It is. And it’s better than your dumb shit.
So, no. I don’t agree with you.
But I can’t deny it.
I’m just glad it’s over and you’re gone for now.
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