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 ?? 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