to avoid all apparent anger, please read the italicised parts of transcendent importance.

when i was a child i was told i was born with a birth mark,
a chernobyl signature,
told i was enclosed in the womb and safest there,
but i doubt that now...
few positives of telling a child he was born with cancer,
but as my egyptian fuckjoy schoolfriend would tell you:
beat cancer with the brain bleeding,
or as i would like to say, in analogy -
poet comes up to a philosopher and says:
pick on someone your own size, like Balzac, or Tolstoy*.
my fuckjoy friend doesn’t get it still,
it’s a shame, i hope he gets it one day,
i was duped into this cancerous affair
because mine surfaced just below the skin
and shimmered it’s purply sick colour to be later removed...
but the bleeding brain though, can’t get enough of that,
but my egyptian friend here ****** the bearded lady and (
aby w zyciu był smacek, raz dziewczynka... raz chłopacek )
is about to tell me i’m not allowed jokes
about how to size up, man up and do a beatles cover
on the covers album: the beetle incident of:
live and swallow *** loads?
he ought to now, he’s touring america now,
with a bucketload of **** of prayers for the courtroom
so he can buy that mercedes benz and look the constipated part
in the shire of middle class england;
hey egyptian bro, tell your daddy i’m sending him an x-ray
to qualify him to the status of mr. surgeon
rather than what he already is, dr. radiologist -
oh look at me, i can count to one hundred using a ******* calculator.