Botch

Yo life sucks, gypsy moths out my stomach
My life has 30 percent of life, it lacks arms, strings and a few buttons
I commit suicide at 65 percent, fuck it the kids will love it
I'm disgusted, art at the present is only self contained construction about which there is no more to be said of it
I drew mud slick, drop of blue tremor linked to the ground by a magnetized gaze
At dusk, snow over peaks of a summit
Cotton wool-like, in my narcon encrusted blood pumps it takes the page when I cut it
Catching inks with pots and buckets
Beneath root flower and stone, I group a coven
I lurk in fire damps and coal pits to canoe out the origins of your pungent
Vein weeping at the focal point where your guts sit
I diffuse elation and whatever sunlit
What is rugged, this cuprous fertilize metal rusted
I post up a collection of my life's work in a gallery to make it easy for you to pass judgment
My tongue drip, low-tide polluted bay water, salt spraying aerial like seagulls spit
Eyes upon fisher, duckbill gullet
My happiness is a mask under it
I generate misery to sulk in, brilliant depression
Ascended to music like Scott Walker sullen, slow and sluggish
I kick Suffolks, oil spill tanker boat tugging
Diluted water propulsion before punch ins
The crowd nailed me to a cross
I am emotional numbness, nocturnal vampiric dust drift
In a dim lit cafe, this beating it downer, writing to the ludes tank
Punch rap's balloon face
I figure evolution before I lose face
Stone carving a new slate, digging is a mutate
And carry my two hemispheres in a suitcase
I told watch the nerves, like a paper knife endive in the noose frame
Me and this game as a razor blade in a fruitcake
They're all poets, writers, diplomats, and dress makers trying to move brakes
I kill future art with ease
Shit I'm on causes black suited narcs to creep
I drop cellular metals and of cryptograms hysterical paranoia starts to seep
Rush surges of melting face images under the bark of trees
I litter state parks with crystal meth shard debris
I'm sulked in depression with a pad, the artist weeps
Dead tired but off the charts asleep
Spider crawl filthy cerebral saliva, wash brain's harness leash