you,
desolate shadow of existence
Sexed up and used by their persistence,
You'r admirations and aspirations
Are the apple cores
Planting seeds in my belly
Despite my resistance.

In this world I don't try too hard
I slide on by
Unable to insure my car
And I don't believe In God, despite what people say
But if God is real
Then by God, ill start to pray
Because earth is a cesspool
And I think it'd be cool
To sprout angel wings when I die
And fly away
But until then I'll slide on by
Sinning in the cesspool
To pass the time

Tipsy Trixie likes to do blow.
Coffee, blow.
    Lunch, blow.
       Shopping, blow.
For Trixie, that's how life goes,
A long line of genocide
    Going up into her nose
Before a cold, bare floor catches Trixie's clothes,
in an attempt to add to her stash
Of street corner cash
All wrapped up in rolls.

Selling herself short just to finance the blow,
She'll soon snort herself cold,
or maybe she'll get **** rich and forever swim in her snow.

But I'm no dreamer,
And trixie's a coke *****.
Another street corner dime
Just looking to score.
When this winter blows over
She'll be sniffing for more.

A young activist with a problem, with something to say,
to prove a point he sat in a glass box for an entire summer day.
The glass got hot with time, and to the entire community's dismay,
he got so hot his skin bubbled, puddled, popped and sprayed.
Now his mother wails over peace , she wanted to cool down the iron fist,
She couldn't even put out the fire that burned her young activist.

There was once a beast,
who shaved the insecurities
of our society
with a blade of ugly
that was too painful to see
Slight cuts made our eyes bleed,
and his aftershave was our precious need.

Dipped in grease
and drowned in ****
Society gives back,
but only to the pegs that fit.

People are eternal guidelines
for universal mistakes.
All our petty *******,
our lies and our fakes.
We close our eyes at night,
and drift off to sleep.
Only to awaken
to expectations too steep.