The Statement

We are the products of an conglomerate that fight and bicker, success is an percentage that we’re left to go figure. I did thousands of curls over the years to feel bigger, while i have disease and animosity flowing through my liver. Im dying, i want to die quicker but i cant because my future assures top shelf liquor

I found diamonds and colors to decorate these lies, nobody is listening so why should I cry. This world is bleak, ive grown tired of it but it wont let me sleep. He’s got bullets in his stomach to save and keep, while his lover whines with her small sheep. This poem is the product of a hateful boy’s sigh, a mere proclamation before the genocide, I wanted to die but god is going to make suffer through years of suicide. I swerve on and off a straight line, as the morals i once held so high, decline. They say at least you tried, as i sprinkled my carelessness with diamonds from aparthied. This the statement, do or die.

People can smoke weed and plant their seed, im intoxicated on the roadkill that they leave. Have a romantic dinner with a stipulation, or stay tipsy with low confidence on the festive nights of New Years Eve. I tried to rearrange the stars, life was sweet because i relied on candy bars, starstruck by flashy cars, aspirations to be a writer were polluted by a dream to big, that there would be a time where i could be a kid. This is a blase production, hey my name is Anthony! This is my introduction. I threw my life into a dirty hole that went on forever, grueling like a glimpse of my endeavor, arteries of actuality severed. The offspring of an eclipse, im a little bitch, uploading a picture on facebook as i shake my hips. Im not Gladys, im still the pips. This is the way it goes down, after i spit in their face there is a piano solo, followed by a clown. Ill probably be killed but you wont her a sound, because ive been praying for plagues througout the night in a black gown. The sweaty palms revealed my anxious qualms, but like any preaching zealot i read the passage like it was the Nagasaki bomb. Place my insecurities into a line from psalms, god screwed me so hard i adjusted my lip balm. But remain calm, reality is the underwear of the underling crawling beneath my wing, ive only got one more paragraph of blasphemy to sing.

I painted a thesis, co-wrote the same symphony, but this time i let my dark half take the wheel to avoid the road or a epiphany. I’d prefer a crash, then the poetic lash of a slavemasters slash. Id like to get happy memories but all i have is cash. 45 magnum pencil, im hardcore, they reposessed my life but i promise im not poor. We fled the scene I had created, the doctor gave me pills that left my mercy sedated, so we will find your god and make sure your expiration date isnt outdated, we wouldnt you to be relocated. HoneyBunny, i love you so, you will always be in my heart, transcending friend or foe. But yo, ive got no melody like All Time Low, been brought down to Deaths Valley by an Average Joe, dont tell the Board of Education, but im fastidious not slow, my ego altered by a corporations low blow. Ive guess ive got Glory to sew…

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s