Smoke gathers in the air,
Mixing with the fog of this dreery night.
Inhaling the chemicals I know will **** me,
but who cares, not me.

Alone with a bottle in my hand,
Taking another swig.
My tastebuds have gone numb.
But who's judging, not me.

Taking them inside to lay me down,
Never to see him again.
Emotions are no where to be seen.
But who's **** shaming, not me.

Vices are who we are.
Embracing them are a risk.
Monitoring my actions is obsene.
But who's changing, not me.

Manson's singing soaking them with
the silken sound of ***
His throat tearing with sweat and
blood
The way you'd like your
fabric skin torn
away
As he pours a flood of
need down your
throat and
legs
You want to beg for
mercy and more
Beg until your body is sore
with the pill of a breath
The sound of his pain
makes you feel bereft
and touched
too much
not
enough
don't
stop

His voice grabs the audience's crotch
Be obsene

"Light a candle for the sinners"
"Light a fire"

You could burn a country with this audience's
desire

Manson is ******* them.
And they ******* love it.

Maureen the mean lottery playing machine
when I see her  I mutter something obsene.
sometimes it's seven am on a Saturday morning
and she shows up with no warning.
"ill take a three number on the daily,
I could call her a loser and she can just pay me
behind her there is always a line
and when she buys donuts that's a bad sign
because she's always camping out in her car
And she never goes very far
when she comes back in I can feel my heart sinking
she's my reason to maybe start drinking
"I really have to go shopping"
but not before dropping
more money on tickets  then I make all week
because fortune is what she seeks
she smokes basics but only the hard packs
when she hits the million I hope she doesn't have a heart attack
"these tickets are terrible." she keeps playing
There's a disconnect between what she's saying
and what she does
but that's because
she has a terrible affliction
a gambling addiction
"two brown cash two silver sevens and one golden spin
the odds are stacked against her so she can't win
maybe she can't see
what it looks like to me
she's blinded by a tiny prospect of glory
but sadly this is just one telling of a popular story

You're a dumb dude
Secretly filming the ****
You do shady *** **** and write poems about it
35 and writing like your 15
With poems like yours it's not hard to be mean 
Your just a man out of his prime bent on the obsene
The cops coming to your house clearly didn't freak you out
So maybe I'll tell your mom what your all about.

You **** and I hate everything about you. Stop writing poems about me.

The price we give to vanity
In the mirror of a loved one
We curse God's reflection-
And delve into depression
When want flies it's price
And seizes our esteem
Which disappears like ice
In the veins of our idolised doll

Come with me loved child
You seem to float around my identity
The way confetti crowds the vacancy
Of the doubtful past-
Echo me
Echo me

You'll never echo me
This paradise is painful
Because love is peculiar
And obsene to somebody
Who only witnesses the one they love
    In a place where nobody understands
The universe remains like an obsolete sentence
Scribbled by a troubled hand
Perhaps a death sentence in Bermuda
Perhaps, in a third place, Something that chills
Our perfect day.