lyrical and maddeningly out punned

by the intellectual sadist shotgun

that blasts my ass to pieces

every time I glance at this

there’s a page I shouldn’t approach for fun

but its only there where my work is done

I go to figure it out a creepers work is never

sought out

I’m a stalking internet style

hair a mess undressed and full out doubt

that I’ll ever EVER reach on out to the

hands just out of my reach and found

a fondness for my eccentricity

there’s no one in a million quite like me

a pirate with proclivities

ruffled shirts high boots and

blackened destiny

but I think one day I’ll figure it out

why the ones I need leave me to pout

I doubt its me I think its the need

to increase feelings with insipid sheets

I am a child trapped in grown ass man

but still have the hungers and

do the dance

of a craven heathen with out pants

just a collection of long coats and

fancy hats



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