I cough up blood like words of
love to the limpless scandal
counting question marks on her
fugly face.
I throw up food like a volcano
that screamed justice and the
magma missed jezzabelle, the saint.
Cosmopolitan Freakshow,
A deluge sans answers,
An empty box.

Warts appear like the truth
which remains.... well.....you
know all about that don't you.
Go on, we all wait for God
but he'll never come, ask
the King, but then again,
who does he answer to?
I answer to this fever,
this muse of Dante,
I answer to my sins,
Like the State of Nature
to her dues.
And then I eat the
medicine, which is philosophy,
A poison which cures a day,
but ends a lifetime.