I wrote this. Take it. Leave it. Discuss it. Ignore it. One of those things.
Truly tired of trying to escape. There is nowhere else to go. Try alcohol. Wears off. Try weed. makes a zombie. No one likes zombies. Where is the destination? No fucking clue. Try Sex. Ok. Depends. Small, big, up, down, around. Try love. Like alcohol, wears off. How to keep from wearing off? Build! Create the greatest, largest, toughest machine. Not really a zombie. Takes too many living people. Take pieces of the people. Leg, chest, hippocampus. Make one Machine.
One works too hard. One worked very little. One is psychotic. One is emotionally aloof. One is ugly. One is beautiful. One is short. One is tall. One is blond. One is brunette.
Take his bolts. Take his screws. Take his gears. Take his dick. Take his tongue. Take his mind. Take his soul. Build one Machine.
How the fuck to maintain this Machine? Instruction Manual! Leg do this. Chest do that. Breathe. Altogether NOW! Wait, not out the door. Come back. Alone.
Make another Machine. Not men pieces. Women pieces. Her shoes, her skin, her psychosis. Her dog. Her hair. Not a Machine. An Outfit! Wear it. Sashay Shauntay. Altogether NOW! Out the door. No Turning back. They love me. I don't know me.
What is I? What is me? An Outfit of course! Sashay Shauntay? YES! Altogether NOW! Wait, truthfully together. There goes a screw. There goes a gear. There goes a bolt. Not the skin. Skin stays and rots. Sticks like melting polyester. Melting plastic. RIP IT OFF! Too late.
Disfigured. Raw. Sashay Shauntay. Sashay away.
omg i imagined you like in the coffee house where everyone is either smoking or drinking coffee doing that verbal poetry that some people do and people snapping at the end. its very good
ReplyDeletehaha.. thanks. It's more like me in my room listening to Gorillaz.
ReplyDelete