there are good souls in this world shrouded in weathered skin dry and cracked with scowls hung upon their face balancing on the scars of their brow just as there are bad souls in this world hiding under plush skin their faces adorned with kind eyes and cherry red lips made for kissing or spitting with rage
picture a gorgeous brunette with fair skin, bold eyebrows and her hair in a subtle yet nineteen-thirties style updo wearing a red chiffon summer dress the sun beats down on her as she glistens with light perspiration espresso in-hand cigarette in the other her pale soft skin no match for the thirty degree heat outside of this café she nonchalantly finds herself she is the epitome of carefree beauty
she kicked her lovers dog outside this morning exiling him to a six hour long toilet break after she "forgot" she had let him out before leaving to go shopping whilst her feller finished his shift because the dog is old and smelly and gets almost as much attention as her she even saw his pensioner neighbour struggling to take the bins out as she walked to her car and laughed rather than help because she always thought Mary was a no good Jew she even called her Mrs. Goldstein "Have a nice day Mrs. Goldstein." but Mary's surname is Cohen
picture this beautiful girl a siren leading good men astray she can get any man she wants and plucks only the finest most succulent I mean successful and well put together men from gardens of bachelors maturing in the hardships of city life she has plenty choice but she's fickle you see, her man has to be almost perfect for it to be as enjoyable as possible to watch his life unravel and unfold into everything he wanted it not to be
achievable only through toxic beauty her joy is venom soaked insides of lovers caught in a sultry web of lies, ambition and *** she loves a scandal or a text sent to the wrong person and she has everything to hide but does nothing to do so she gets by just fine being beautiful and sickening and sickeningly beautiful you know the sort she is a bad, bad girl
I’m the thing in the middle of the street at night. I’m an alcohol prone cigarette drone. Roll me up some suicide, I puff it with pride. I’m what’s feared at night. I even give myself a fright. The world takes pictures of me. A spectacle. I’m the perfection of failure. I’m the shadows. The dismal abyss the world needs. I’m colder than a robot. Quieter than a rat. I’m what you can but can’t see. I’m cheaper than air and just as useful. Use me up, ******* away. I seek love and connection. A warm place to be. My disposition cuts connection clean. I’m the H spoon. Never washed, always abused. I’m spread like a disease. Unwanted, and to be killed. Eradicate me please. I’m a ***** injected, loose connected, nicotine aspirated, four cylinder waste machine. No one cranks me with the hand of desire. Just in lust of deceit and fire. I’m thrown away when you’re done with me. I’m the byproduct of society. The degradation of sobriety. I’m the Night Rider.
Like puppets dancing on strings Are Presidents and princes Prime Ministers and politicians And the tune they dance to Is older than their kingdoms Behold the King of this world Hidden away from the public eye Yet commanding nations with a whisper He was glorious and beautiful once And he walked among the innocent But, in one moment of vanity He stole rulership of the world His personality is stamped upon mankind For he sets the pace While most men follow He spoke the first lies Inflicted the first casualty And he has never felt regret Has never shed a tear Though his wars have taken millions And his devotees have enslaved nations He is the author of confusion The instigator of Hellfire and hatred The creator of trinitys and tribulation He accuses you and I of cowardice and selfishness Yet is himself running scared And clinging to power and life He is the excuser of unholy child abusers And the inspiration of Jihadist bombs He speaks lies about the innocent And glorifies the guilty He hunts all good men As a lion hunts the deer He will tear at your throat And consume you He is the Resistor The Slanderer He cajoles those who consider his existence And paints himself in mythical proportions He would destroy the earth rather than surrender it Would rather ruin if he cannot rule Yet the whole world is in his hands But not forever Because forever does not belong to him And not life For the gift of life is not his to give