Desultory genius, under construction, lost when unnerved.
Nothing more bizarre than the absurdist themes conjured with words.
It’s almost perverted with how unconcerned I’ve grown as a man,
Flirting with death, skeleton slow dance, holding his hands.
Smile so they see it, hold smog in my lungs,
Breathe it out when the smoke clears, Simon de Beauvoir.
Polished the earth that you stand on, apologies worth,
Sleep paralysis, demon passage, toss and you turn.
I’m your most perfected distraction, go on as you were,
‘Cause I’ll never be anyone’s anything or something deserved.
Just a deserted desert, destructive, berserk,
Deconstruct me to dirt, I’m your diversionary malpractice.
Making inadvertent adversaries off these Shakespearean actions,
The never-intended director’s cut, a roll of film wasted.
The point of this is concave, an oil drill placement,
Boiled blood painted roses, and the soil in my bones’ clay.
Another day, another doctrine, just shooting in my two cents,
Living tooth and nail through this truth is hell nuisance.
Give me a hug, give me a kiss,
Give me a fuck, give a fuck about this.
Oblivion’s done, an oblivious run-around crypt.