You’re so beautiful
But I get the feeling that you get told that all the time
No, not beautiful, but that your fine
And it’s ran to your ******* head
Don’t trust women, yet can’t seem to get them out your head
Don’t trust the devil,
But you always let him lie in your bed
Watching demons through different mediums
Yet wonder why you can’t get them OFF your head.
Always breaking bread with your ******
But can’t get up and make some bread
Got an ole lady at home
But you tied to the streets instead
When you gone grow up
And learn how to be a ******* man?
I'm sick of these transfusions
I always have to give
You're always the one dying
And you need my blood to live
Universally you recieve
But very picky how you donate
As a universal giver
This I don't appreciate
Not everybody can love me
Not everyone has what it takes
Only my kind,
Can love me, and love me straight
No matter the circumstances,
My love never be returned
Because our transfusion doesn't work that way
You leave me dry,
I'm O positive, by the way!
'Tis better to give than to recieve?
If you could see me now,
on this bathroom floor
like the wet towel in the corner,
a most-likely-used toilet brush
ash & hair
is the next closest thing
in arm's reach
to a real statement.
You want to know what it's about?
You do not want to know what it's about.
To dunk those
in oil and expect
would just be silly.
Take the bedazzlings from their feet
and what is left to judge
that which they do not want to know?
for all the donors & gatekeepers
I signed the papers
to give my organs away
after I die
to let you know that
even after I'm gone
you can still find me
inside of others.
Poetry aside, maybe I really should get the procedure done.
— The End —