• the_fox 92w

    he died of excessive money

    just losing all my friends,
    vocal chords are strung out
    as if every whisper from your mouth
    is a burning bridge
    to my subconscious;
    condemned for murdering my ego,
    and everybody else shackled to it.

    the devil has the virtue of patience,
    steadily waiting, on the other end
    of the batphone;
    whilst God has taken LSD,
    preaching about
    how ignorance is bliss.

    drinking gallons,
    that the bladder couldn't handle,
    Jesus Christ, she has a pretty face
    but she makes me want to rinse
    my eyes with acid,
    flaccid psychological balance,
    the colours are divergent
    through these slits of shattered glass.

    vomiting my brain out
    on the sink, on the pavement,
    could you pick it up for me, please ?
    sleeping on a bed of addiction,
    the inclination has failed the degausser,
    and hence, the remnants hurt my head,
    the money would surely make my bed,
    but who would be sleeping next to me ?

    (well, Ben Franklin
    we love you so much,
    but do me a favour
    and don't reply;
    because I can dish it out,
    but I can't take it).