I ate salted scraps of a pig
and drank plants ‘til life became blurry

My black shirt got salt lines on it;
lick it up tequila whores,
I’m gunna fuck a married woman
Don’t care if she’s best friends of who

Gimme a plant I can drink
and I’ll smoke that shit

No fun being different
Originality has run its course
No fun being the same, either
that all-hip-pre-processed shit nowadays
ain’t no one gunna stab ya rob ya shoot ya neither

Human folk are mostly good beings
ain’t no reason the exceptions should be the rule

I’m digesting, head’s numb like the teeth
the brutal truth though
is nuthin’ don’t mean shit

The problem, however,
is do I make a purpose
or live to not give a shit

Must I create a reason when I know none exists?

 
af

 

(written with pen on paper)