And I still love each and every one of you.
From the ****** to the harlots, the housewives, single mothers and emo creamsicles.
The scene chicks with the big hair always held a hold on my chest.
Dyed hair, whiskey and cigarettes.
Play another round, let's stay a while and place another bet.
The house is losing at last, so goodbye to all of you.
An **** subsides, the **** of a nation's replaced the pornstars.
I've got horns on from the things I've done to you, for you and with you.
A latina *** is sleeping in my bed and there's a Colombian marching band playing through my head.
There's only so many pikes to fit these holes and hoist my severed visage.
I'm a wizard but not the grand type; more Gandolf the grey, country white boy neurodivergent.
The city's gone now there's a kitten in my bed, with her *** in the air and the smell of **** and *** in the air.
There's an animalistic, cannibalistic streak to the violence between our touches.
I'm a rough **** hungover from a trip down suicide lane again;
At least it's more ideation and less action;
But ain't that my problem these days anyway?
I miss the dyed hair, the tattoos and the things I'mma do to you.
Let's hurry up this solo-death and spill ****** fluids across the canvas again, lover one.

I have a tendency of opening my tendons, see
I tend to write til' tensions take intended words and swallow verse
Inside my person I've been riding hearses with infected nurses
Spitting curses at these ******' governmental oversights
And on these nights, when I can write, and swallow frights
I fall in fights and loose my lights and all my rights
Til' try I might, my stomach turning tight, but where does it go from here?
What do you want to hear? Another I love you?
Another I loathe you until' the blood breaks the surface?
I'm a lodestone for your negativity,
A baby Jesus in a burning nativity scene that screams at the seams when reality bends, breaks and shatters
So you can fall back naked on the bed, with a pen in your hand
And suffer for every finger that ran across the barren land of your ignorance.
I'm not a nice a person, but neither are you
And no baby, I ain't attracted to a **** thing about you
But what else is new?

Blood ******, though blessed be my enemies
I've been doing fine lately, so maybe that's why there's less lines in my mind.
I've been lost imagining fingers on my spine, breath in my ear and your tongue on my lips.
Couldn't give a **** if my anxiety tells me to quit; that's what it said about writing but what keeps these lights on?
I'm a crisis but one that's running out of steam.
Soon I'm going to have to accept that I'm just fine and let this version of myself die.
Not sure why I keep holding on, I guess I kinda like the way the words flow when I let 'em.
But I'm getting older, another decade facing me from across a calendar flip.
Not quite "oh ****, this is it" levels of old but enough to realize I'm not sure what I want to be.
A year ago I wasn't so dead set on building a house and starting a family.
Now I want to be a grandfather with some goats in his yard, a pipe on his lips and too much knowledge to be allowed to live.
I kid, but only in the slightest.
Let my ****** be justified, just let it be far away.
Rather raise a kid and see them grow into their own while I water the garden of my own consciousness.
Grow some skills with lots of tender care and prosper properly in perfection permanently.

My words are a poison, pick them perfectly, preferably with passion and pleasure.
You might just get a treasure.
But find me with your irony, your ivory tower and ignorance and I'll watch as both eyes rot out of your head.
Who did you think was running this show?
God's a hobo with a list of fetishes, vices and curses;
He ain't afraid to use them, bruise them or let them die.
Look into his eyes, do you see a smile or your demise?
I'll let you in a secret, so long as you keep it,
Which won't be hard where you're going.
So listen close, while the hounds of hell nip at your feet,
I'll only say this one, so listen well...
...****, he fell.

Swallow your pride,
Let's go get high
And taste the sky
In each other's eyes.

Swallow plague, out for the holidays,
Holler ways, I'm short on hearing and my ears are bleeding,
Numb, I'm screaming
Quick fix,
Wake up in a subway with stigma on my greedy tongue.
I'm a ***** when the weather comes, a hermit in the winter and your baby's new Mr.
Cheap shot but the blisters on my feet you will meet.
Like an **** at the Bed and Breakfast, I'm gone before dinner.
Nighttime sinner when dusk comes, all love when she comes.
Come come morning split conscious ways to hideaways miles away.
Can't cut what you've never loved, can't split when the heat comes;
No ****** glove, just accountability in dollar amounts from settled hugs.

So she follows me tomorrow, while I'm still escaping today.
I can't wait to say, I hate to say, I told me so.
I'm a naughty disinfect with a numb body from the infection.
A walking lesson, contradiction, legion of lesions,
I'm quietly lying with my sin, unsure where I stand within.
Watch my degradation, how my morals decay and I waste away.
If I knew what I wanted I wouldn't be haunted, just lonely.
But I'm lonely anyway, stuck in this Victorian cage;
The maiden is metallic and I'm stuck within.

I am the definition of grasping, in a Buddhist sense
A rotten mouth thirsty for another sip,
I imagine a future we're living in
Why do I always expect you will follow?
Swallow my pride, swallow my seed, swallow my misery then swallow me.
I'm swollen inside, can't you see?
The pieces that depart from me.

I would give my everything,
For your nothing.
Inside, I already have.
Now take everything,
And move along.
This is just another sorry, sad song.

And you will crawl,
on broken glass, should I ask.
But what does that say?
Is bleeding really how you get your way?

Maybe I'm missing something here
But there ain't all that much to see
So I doubt it.

Hands clawing my throat,
Though there ain't no lies.
Just apathy, dopamine,
and a lack of oxytocin.

We're living circular cycles,
**** near cyclical;
But we're living in a time
That's either linear or spiral.

I know a thing or two about what's eating me,
But I'm a coward, a ******* and a weak poet.
Earn a living with my words, though,
So I'll take what I can get.

I haven't bit the hand that feeds often enough,
Come on baby, you know they like it rough,
They've been ******* us, sure enough.

Now problem number two,
I'll let you doubt which is which,
Had to give you the slip,
Then you pull me right back in.

Flip again and now I'm teleporting in,
Every ******* drop of your roller coaster eyes;
They're eating me alive,
And I'd surmise,
That my stomach can only hold on so long
Before it bursts and I'm hurling up butterflies
Into yellow skies,
My demise was written on your hips.