Bleary red plastic, its shiny and smooth,
It hangs from her neck, its one of a hundred thousand,
There and again it covers her lips, untarnished.
Walls go up forever, they too are adorned with the same familiar lack of texture;
Every now and then a splash of liquor marks the scene,
A blurted retort scratches at the fog.
More plastic; this time its engrained in his teeth,
It glances unaffectedly at me while he chews badly arranged sentences.
More liquor now, its solidifying in front of our eyes,
It makes him look deformed as he pushes poisoned blocks down his neck.
More barrels with taps with liquor with sediment with a trail of responsibility,
They flow they fight they scourge they discombobulate rhyme.
People are standing stupid, totem poles to idiocy;
Each portion of their bodies with different mottos:
'Seize everything', 'Any hole in a rush'
What a pretty smile, now open your mouth.
Roughed up and fucked up, a hundred followers trace a familiar path,
They are unison, and together they are inoffensive, they are norm;
Smooth as shiny plastic never to be obliged to grow or evolve.
Contentment of the mind and atrophication of the senses. Sublime.
No comments:
Post a Comment