Sometimes I feel this awful pain
as if I were a vodou doll
on a bed of nails to obtain
a well-deserved rest since the brawl
made mincemeat of my face, disgrace
in the ring where no choir sings
empty praises for a fox chase,
hunted for my pelt, nothing brings
this old body more joy, to skin
a corpse of flesh, Marsyas knows
if punishment is served, to win
a contest with a god just shows
mankind, hubris finds in the end
the skin or pelt is mine in death,
even if someone acts "the friend"
but is a fiend instead, this breath
still not my last, lets me taste life
on my tongue, whether bittersweet,
I hunger for a chocolate wife
to devour on Easter, we meet
for espresso in the morning,
the machine presses out my soul,
enter evening, some guy horning
in on my turf has but one goal,
enter the bank at heaven's gate
to steal my bride from St. Peter,
life is nothing but hell, to sate
my broken lyre, he must treat her
terribly kind, as if a queen,
my Eurydice in my arms,
how unkind this world to my spleen,
if I drink too much it alarms
ignorant firestarters of flames
they set in the forests for fun,
still arson provides some with games
to make the evening news, well done,
aspire to infamy, no worse
for wear, orange becomes your gear,
whether les anges d'or spit and curse
your pride, or you discover fear,
for you have nowhere left to run,
at night, inside your cell, you scream,
under the strain of prison, fun
is gone for good, for now you dream,
life on the outside, apple pie,
served hot, straight out of the oven,
pleasure and pain remain, goodbye
cruel world, welcome to the coven,
as sadists are known to gang rape
the fresh vessel of wholesome love,
in your own cell, you, a stuffed grape
leaf, filled with rice, they send a dove,
notably from the ark, insane,
you learn to walk before you crawl.
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