Stripping myself
down to nothing.

So I can look
pretty,
like all them other
***** do.

Pixilated to perfection.

Welcome,  
my never-ending nightmare.
Bringing myself down,
so I can go down onto them?

lololollolol

Uhhhh I mean,
right before they
lay down
on their
backs.

Up
on a giant silver platter.
They're the main course, after all.
  
Funny, cause this pack of wolves.
Don’t even like *****.
But they're munching on something.

*****.
*****.
&
More of them.

You're not the only one.
The rest of us are still clownin' in the closet.  

SO
Play the chess-chest game.
Cause you have to.
&
Cut off the Queens head.
Purple looks better on you
anyways.

Another line off
a ****** broken
toilet-seat.

&
The guy with
smiley face eyes
is done-gone
getting himself,
into another
fist-fight.

With all the other
crack-cats.
For the biggest bag-o-rocks,
from the litter box.

Living the White-Trash dream.
Is just a day-dream
throw-away...

"bang.bang".

The World will end....

When the freedom fire
of creativity&innovation.;
Burns-out.

Or
even worse,
if we sell it
4 $$$$$$.

Hello, to being
bailed-out-bought by
Big businessmen with even bigger wallets.

If anything is going on.
In the meeting room.
No one, can even hear a sound of it.

For the Serpent talk,
is hard to hear behind
closed doors.

Just go
have some fun
with a gun.
Already.

You really,
need to either,
shoot some sense
in-to yourself.

Or just shut your
big-broke, skanky-twanky
clap-trap up.

I can't decipher
your motives.

Your self written sermons
are stained with **** & cynicism.

SO
take care of the problem.

BEFORE I
take care of it for you.

Black ravens,
running around
with
their heads
clear-cut
right off their
little
busy-bird-bodies.

You can
hang me
upside down
on a twisted,
wire-hanger cross.
Now.

Tis a cloudy day.
So do a lil'
rain dance,
lap dance
for me.

Won't you wait,
a second?
Please,
so the thunder
Can come
in through your ears.
&
Shoot
lightening
out your eyes.

& There he was,
everybody's fool
in mid April.

Half-way to May.
Caught in a Day-dream.
Dreaming of the porch
his baby basket
should have been dumped on.

Now,
livin' a life of
love-lost lustful lies.

The dark prince,
is just another servant.
Until the day
his father dies
and the horned/thorn-ed crown
is handed down.

To the next heir
standing in
the 69 blood line.

It's a classic!
An All-American.
Trust fund-****-story.

Staring, a little black cloud.
That spent more time,

sulking
over
sitting

up on the family's thrown.

So he sulked up
until he grew up.

For
he was too foolish,
& tiny
to sit-in or fit-it.

At first, of course.

I'd rather have a hand count of friends.
Than a pocket-full of enemies.

Strength in numbers?
Oh my
fine, sweet ***
no.

They can  
keep hatin'.
I have strength in myself.
No, need to count.
I got this.

Imma pack full flavored infamy.

So Put this
Crystal,
in your
pain-stained crack pipe
& shmoke it.

Until your wee, little brain
rots right out of
your hallowed out head.