are we living in a world of make believe
finding ourselves void
of even a spark of reality
surviving on cast off’s
remnants of other’s dreams
We are all composed of stardust
and so is dirt.
You will inherit your father’s sins;
shortcomings; and nebulous...
Upon my breast
sleeps the pages of
a smooth thick novel
spending the night with
a passionate story in
Your skin pages
the concept of a “Freudian Slip” just doesn’t make any sex to me at all
I see the fools with bells on their feet,
Flashing lights on their pants and hands,
With a mind like a stone and soul of a spade,
Dead as the souls they sell for their bands.
Getting grinded on in a club,
They think they’re God’s gift to us,
But on patterns of thoughts in their minds,
They’re in need of a metaphysical truss.
They’re vermin to Mind and Soul,
Veritable worms in Spirit’s shit,
Send them off to their own island,
Because I can’t take any more of it.
Let them dance their way into a shallow grave,
Their sands of effort barely covering their heels,
Let the shallow be exposed to the elements,
And have their bones crushed under time’s wheel.