the same sitting-around. the same "newsroom." the
same meek children who think they're adults. i pity
you sad fucking people. (i really do.) (thou are god.)
the same faggots and Vespa drivers. the same need
to explain the last sentence's subject: I DON'T HATE
GAYS, AND IF I DID, FUCK YOU. cybernetic
hate like worms eat your composing shit, &
that's favorable. sad fucking people. fuck you.
the sad newsroom. the lack of expressing things.
in your own head. i'm not writing verse when i say
that hazardous waste is put in your water, & you
drink it while thinking it's "not that bad," and celebrating
poor kids. at least they dont' have cavities.
i can't take it anymore. ADHD, depression. i no longer
suffer, but why? i have seen the light.
i'm officially fucked, i'm officially saved. i'm like
an Army Sergeant seeing the light, writing in banal
semiotics. "My girl, that bitch fine." Scratch the bitch
word, but we're all being honest. I can't hide it,
I can't hide it, I can't hide it.
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