Hobbling out of bed Half dead I'm led To the bathroom The shower a vacuum Of my powerlessness But first i **** Then get in **** out the contaminants Of my ***** habits And i scrub I scrub off The plastic love The mean mug And tug on my **** Plant a vision til it pops And drop To the shower floor Tilt my head back And gurgle to the gods For more Scrub the grill Lay a towel on the floor Suit up for a war Two sprays of cologne And im out the door Headphones on Angels atoning To the morning As im floating Through the fog Descending in my grog Along the path Like a lab rat For a slab of cheese Through the swamps And trees Trampling Dead things And leafs And im seen By nobody As i ascend a hill To the corporate power Where ill cower For nine hours Before reporting home Going to bed And waking up To do it all again Its blue collar zen And im bored So fraking bored With my chores Id rather scribble sounds Into forms Verbal storms Visual cores Implored To explore The tortured Terms in torrents Of turbulent Talks with dead gods And im born Into the horns Ive sworn To protect In widows peaks And deepened Speeches I'm infected With my perfection Torn In the muffled traces Of noiselessness Among the space-less Distances To my sentences Taking out the crackles And recording Over the blemishes Relishing The fragile moments Of eloquence In **** jokes And threatening Gestures Jesting The restructuring Of molesting Verbiage beat Over the mic Delusions enticed In my writes Of fights In long sleepless nights Of rhyming With bad timing And mumbling Of slimy things Bubbling in the cuts Dubsteped to **** fits Sunkissed in lacking curtains Disturbing the certainty Of sleep And cheapening My dreams Rolling over Planting my feet Upon wood floors Hobbling toward Tomorrow Sorrowfully Repeating The same thing Washing away the sleep And fleeing My creativity For the rest of the week