but what
if i care about something
more than other somethings,
like air and black girls?
if i
were to ever lose it,
well, it’d be no secret,
i’d go to perdition to find her.
i
can’t just keep quiet
and let it lose brightness,
let it grow dimmer,
and then fade.
so i’ll
put belief in a pistol
and attend misery’s funeral
who has died at my gallant hand.
well, i,
i'm gonna love you
from a muggy backseat
on the world’s greatest street
and we’ll,
we’ll fall asleep,
one bad bitch in my arms,
head resting on heartbeats.
lovin’ r*w,
being crude,
being punk,
heartsick saps with tattoos.
falling hard,
concerning oneself and fond regards,
being rash,
a big wet kiss for the poor white trash
who feels
hungover
coming to
right beside her,
dumbstruck
but a happy fucking
dude.
i’m preparing a crusade,
wads of disorder and huge hand grenades
filled with a tendency to
strangle the pricks that would choose to wound you.
i'll make them all ghosts where they stand.
aimless, vagrant spooks and no longer man
when they
turn me into the very thing
that I swore I’d never be
when unkind cuts made me
detached like the imitation
badass
i was born to play
on a tv show
about all the good ways
to act
young,
have
fun,
drink some shit and
smoke blunts
amongst spicy, priceless situations
and our coming of age temptations
perpetrated by tons of