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Lucy Tonic  Jan 2015
Bottomfeeder
Lucy Tonic Jan 2015
My boredom is married to my indecision, so I finger another cigarette, frozen in a useless moment

If I had a flare for every time you stared, I'd send it off into space with the rest of the waste that once was golden

Mystery equals mind games and my brain is fried

Wishing I could be the last person alive on earth, where I could be alone with ***** and records- But I bet I was the first person alive on earth; the explanation for why my roots are dumb mud and ****

Souls are recycled from the pit, and the story never ends- maybe next time zen will be in my genetics

Purgatory is a cocoon where the only struggle is waiting for a savior, while you're surrounded by messiahs who didn't make the cut

Wanna go undercover in the audio afterglow and show the universe I can invent new sounds

I want adrenaline and I need peace- the country is lonely and the city never sleeps

Stay or run away, burn out or fade away- Want to go by the lyrics of my heroes, but I fear they've been corrupted

I'm wandering blindly through the dark forest, and I know there's light up ahead but I don't have the strength to climb the trees

I've learned the hard way that spirits aren't bullet-proof- They dissolve with the help of betrayal and ego

I know I have enemies but I lack the capacity to hate- I am man and I am woman and I am nothing and I am everything and I'm a freak and I'm a bottom feeder and still I wonder why people are so cruel when the answer is obvious- but I remain oblivious and blame it on the three millimeters growing inside my head

Tied to the rocking chair, flexing a muscle, while styrofoam stars surround the moon that's being milked by my eyes
What I keep inside my mouth
is something I'm nervous about.
Awkward, yes. Worth mentioning, meh.

This overthinking stains the words
and those daydreams about living it
won't become a reality. It's simply evil,
this unfair lottery of life.

The right hand sucker of the queen
coma, the bottomfeeder down the stage;
This cigarette calms it all. So good it
wanders through my system down
up to the thinker:
fight FIRE with FIRE!

****.

One plucks one, nobody notices
one's missing.
One plucks one more, still the same.
One plucks some more;
Two, three or more will pluck it all.
There. It's bald.
Saggy skin. It's disgusting but
at least other than being
vague and absurd,
it's the real thing.

Is this pretentious?

Pretentious.

Can you tell me? I can't
tell which is which and
what is real from, "****
it's happening,"
will you?

you're not built for this but
I do hope they have insurance
in heaven


(or at least do refunds)
i don't know. ask myself.

— The End —