I once stood upon the threshold of madness
looking in upon a city of wasted limbs
and batwing eyelashes crusted with tears
flung like sapphires from Tiresias eyes.

How now Great Baron of Lust do
you justify the endless legions of lonely
life sick suicides and the saints burning
upon grotesque piles of dollars brightly?

So much sacrificed and sold in the land of
plenty, mana falling from supermarket shelves
and young girls getting ****** in the ***
by sycophantic strangers full of malt liquor
in the backseats of gestating vehicles
screaming in pleasure because the pain
is the only ****** thing that makes sense.

There is a place and a time for writing
of green fields and summer days
life in Technicolor and flowers abounding
kisses sweeter than the purest nectar
and true love that only ever comes once
in a thousand years of birth and rebirth.

This is not that place and it is not this time.

Bought white carnations and a cheap vase from
the shell of a Winn-Dixie to give to a friend I'd
like to love and know that I won't because on my
bad days I ******* in a torn easy chair to forget
drunk on liquor and memories of a love
writing **** in her own blood on a bruised thigh
that had seen too much of a thing called hate.

I have no illusions about what I am or
where I come from and why I churn out
this scathing miasma of filth and shame
directed to the powers that be sitting
supposedly quiet and content on their
thrones built from infant's starved skins
and the backbones of all those nameless
and forgotten proles ******* down cheap
gin and 305's morning noon and night.

Build them then ye cowering babes in suits
those monuments to the all powerful phallus
conqueror of that mysterious prize virginity
stealing innocence and penetrating the veneer
of perfect femininity that you fear will steal your
shriveled testicles if you don't strike first.

****** you captains of business and human capital
profiteers of human suffering and human
fears that can be turned against we weak
chattel stumbling ever onward to the chopping block.

****** you whatever your name is
that slithers into peoples wet dreams in
the middle of the night to whisper horror
and abuse propagating the will to violence
against innocents because of some half-forgotten
past full of parents and ****** and smashed dreams.

**** me whenever you like but know this:
I WILL NEVER SUBMIT