You never
thought I'd
say never.
Get Clever.
**** a sickle from the star,
fuckin' stick it in a cross.
Pissin' vinegar, I'm hot.
I don't dance a lot.
Pull it it back
like a bow,
you'll never know
what I'm talking about,
I'll just throw
my paint at
the canvas, let it
work itself out.
Pucker up and tuck
it in. **** it up
and bless your sin.
Keep the privileged in their place
and keep the simple in their space,
there is no common you can't erase.
Too many
fuckin' problems,
you wish
you
could
fuckin' solve 'em.
Too much hate?
Your heart
has never had
to participate.
Fuckin' lonely?
You've got
too much
on your plate.
Reciprocate.
The surface,
the focus,
I'm sure of all of this.
Get clever.
In all seriousness,
I hate to say it's not an art that's improvised, it's more like you camp out, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking, eating, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking. Praying like **** for the the snare that you set up in an half assed attempt, like always, ******* hoping it comes through for you. Pathetic isn't it?
I've got too many ideas and as these dimwits stare at the bright light behind me I get sadder.
You're probably getting madder, like I'm a ******* ingrate, It's not too late to call me out because I've just begun my tirade.
Unreadable, I know.
If you made it this far I've got to say, you are completely frivolous, and forlorn;
for that I salute you, and realizing this is all in bad taste, I bid you goodnight.
**** that was fast. Didn't even get to what I meant to.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 9:49 AM UTC
You never
thought I'd
say never.
Get Clever.
**** a sickle from the star,
fuckin' stick it in a cross.
Pissin' vinegar, I'm hot.
I don't dance a lot.
Pull it it back
like a bow,
you'll never know
what I'm talking about,
I'll just throw
my paint at
the canvas, let it
work itself out.
Pucker up and tuck
it in. **** it up
and bless your sin.
Keep the privileged in their place
and keep the simple in their space,
there is no common you can't erase.
Too many
fuckin' problems,
you wish
you
could
fuckin' solve 'em.
Too much hate?
Your heart
has never had
to participate.
Fuckin' lonely?
You've got
too much
on your plate.
Reciprocate.
The surface,
the focus,
I'm sure of all of this.
Get clever.
In all seriousness,
I hate to say it's not an art that's improvised, it's more like you camp out, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking, eating, waiting, sitting, wishing, thinking. Praying like **** for the the snare that you set up in an half assed attempt, like always, ******* hoping it comes through for you. Pathetic isn't it?
I've got too many ideas and as these dimwits stare at the bright light behind me I get sadder.
You're probably getting madder, like I'm a ******* ingrate, It's not too late to call me out because I've just begun my tirade.
Unreadable, I know.
If you made it this far I've got to say, you are completely frivolous, and forlorn;
for that I salute you, and realizing this is all in bad taste, I bid you goodnight.
**** that was fast. Didn't even get to what I meant to.
Request permission to use this poem