Everything is relative
but no one is relatable
when cheap *** sells
and romanticism is an affliction.

I want to play jazz chords on a piano of human bones;
in a world where superficial charm
leading to senseless friction
is the only natural progression
and shame is the only ***** word left in the dictionary
so spread your legs for the sycophants,
they’ll adore you until they abhor you.
Relent to the parasites
they’ll gorge on your skin until they’ve had their fill.
Pretend hypersexuality doesn’t run parallel with mental instability;
enable ego-driven addiction
lie with as many people as it takes to forget what you’re always trying to escape.
Swallow ecstasy after you have spat out that jagged little pill;
do what it takes to strip away the meaningless
from the fetishized act you’re always performing.