The Kool-Aid Man isn't cool at all, he's actually a ****.
He's a low life **** bag who poisons people with drugs.
He puts the drugs in the kool-aid, mostly ******* and ****.
He doesn't care that his products cause addiction and death.
He doesn't care who he hurts just as long as he gets paid.
The cops just found his hideout, it's a raid.
He fired at the police because he's out of control.
The police just opened fire and filled him full of holes.
But instead of spilling blood, kool-aid was what was spilled.
Everybody can rest easy because the Kool-Aid Man has been killed.
That's the end of the Kool-Aid Man distributing coke and ****.
The Kool-Aid Man flipped off the cops with his final breath.
The Kool-Aid Man fought the law but he didn't win.
That fat and bloated punk will never say "Oh Yeah!" again.

Head aching
Thunderous throbbing throng
Smacking back and forth
Round and round this skull
Water, water God! please
Heal my sickness
Thud slowly, carefully down the stairs
Kitchen? Light switch?
Water water where's the water
Fumbling hazeiness
A hand in the blind reaches out,
Gruffly silhouetted standing leaned
Against the Darkness
A military slouch in shadow
He spoke with a bellow
“Look, you drink too much, it’s not good for health”
******* you old ****
“Trust me don't touch the poison,
Look after yourself!”
With the mighty declarative of this sort
He rose from the casual to a grumpy trot
Past the light revealing old sad Ernest
He's one to ******* talk.

I can't see above the frosted glass,
but I can see the dark smokey light.
I can feel the music
beneath the rumble of generations
and I swing one foot out of time.

Once in a while the doors thud open,
with a roar of wreaking-ball laughter
and I grip my lemonade a little tighter,
happier as an outsider.

The frosted glass remains,
but it looks cleaner now.
I push the door, the same dark red,
much lighter now.

The whole place seems smaller,
less of a mystery.
I order a lemonade shady,
feeling like I don't belong,
knowing I never wanted to really.

I can't stop shaking and I don't think it's the cold
I feel you resting on my skin and it's the same skin you used to trace and I keep burning my body in the shower thinking it will rid the residue of you
we said all of the right words at the wrong time
and I'll walk through a crowded room with a glass in my hand
and I'll try not to notice your voice in the noise of everyone else but I swear it's still the only sound I hear
I'll convince myself I used you the same way you used me and I'll swallow it down with a sip of *****
then swear this is the last night I'm drinking to forget you
I'm training my tongue to stop telling stories of us everytime someone says your name
and when 3 a.m. comes around and I'm tempted to text you my epiphanies on why we went wrong
hoping one might resonate with you and we can try again
I'll remember all the time I spent rearranging the pieces of me that got tangled with yours and hope I never have to love that much again

I'm that age that suicide comes up in casual conversation.
One half of the room thinks its selfish.
The other half are dead.
I'm that age that your doctors don't give a ****.
Because all the 20 somethings are healthy.
Except the ones that aren't.
I'm that age when my parents want grandkids.
Me too Mom, but life is funny like that, I guess.
I'm that age that all my friends are drunk or depressed.
But most of the time its both.
And we are toeing the line of fun and alcoholism.
I'm that age when I should get a better job.
But the job wants experience.
Which is why I need the job.
I'm that age that is responsible for killing the radio store.
And chain restaraunts
And literally everything else that I can't afford
So who cares if its dead?
I'm that age stuck in the honeymoon phase.
But the honeymoon phase wasn't great to begin with.
And God forbid that it ever ends.
I'm that age that shows up in all the statistics.
Ya know, the ones about failing marriages
Single parents with no idea who the father is.
Or another name written in black, carved into a headstone.
I'm that age that I never expected to survive to.
So now I'm confused.
What was I supposed to do
when 18 came and I was still alive?
I barely saw sixteen, and I have to do this for 50 more years.
I'm that age that knows how to set up my elderly neighbor's Facebook
but I can't figure out how to save enough money
That I won't end up homeless if I come down with cancer.
I'm that age that has a plethora of information at my fingertips,
the musings of Socrates and the masterpieces of Mozart.
But I watch 6 second videos because my attention span was stolen
by the drugs I was put on
to sit still in class so I could learn about paralellograms.
I'm that age that I'm supposed to have my **** together.
But honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Just trying to make it to Friday,
so I can drink away the mistakes I've made.
I guess I'm just at that age.