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Heroin Addicted Midget Lesbians
There's no more shock value.
Everything is cliche.
Heroin addicted lesbian midgets
Reside in Vegas.
And we stand jaw agape no more
Than yesterday.
So
Where do I turn
This spindle
When the twirling world
Dwindles into murky blurs?
Where do I learn
When the flame in the sky
Offers no more inspiration to burn?
Or am I just looking too hard.
Trying to find a shard of metal
To pierce myself with.
And bleed out something I'll settle for
Until
Whenever the next high is.
Because
If the sun melts clay
And we're pottery molds,
Maybe it's wrong to become too enlightened
At a lottery expense...
Maybe it holds true
That I am layered into
A lower mold of existence.
But that dung does mix with other elements
to form fertile soil.
Maybe
There's a place for meat,
And a place for cooking oil..
A chemical formula for platinum,
And one for aluminum foil..
A rock star,
And his audience..
Their shoes,
And the ground they stomp so loyal
When the chorus
Steals the spotlight from the verse
And then recoils.
Maybe there's philosophical rhyme
in reason..
Or poetic reason
in rhyme..
Maybe an innate chime in you
Sounds off in me at a different season
In a different pitch..
Maybe a king needs treason
To reestablish his might
With a prisoner's ditch.
And maybe the ham just works with the cheese and
Maybe I'm healthy because you're diseased and
Maybe I'm just fucking sick...
