I' m tired of all your words, your
dim illumination you call enlightenment.
Your promises are not worth
the tampons they are written on.
Your feathered lashes bat about
tiresome dialogue, worn out
promises, and that ass dusted
with the ash of your exes. No
one cares about your conquests
or the muscle you think and talk with.
Labels and your grandiose god
complex is all you are; chasing a
golden shower of crowning bullshit.
When I see you coming
I run
into the arms of the first
bi-man-trans-cunnilingus
abomination I can find.
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