a metaphor? no, a metaphorical play of words but there are no metaphors here. i string along this corpse of my being by a string like I string kites like I string beads around the neck of the day/ that day when she paved the way for the sunset the sunrise the upset that gave me hives because i didn’t have the money to afford STD free intercourse. of course, there’s always a price for every headless one of us and i am two of us counting circles around the dozen of those who hate this prose.
so they kill me just because. just because. just, but never unfair since life doesn’t care about the way the blood spills. he wants money, he wants benefit profit gain, some way to get paid, and then get lost. however, the cost got too high so the head rolled behind the last wave, and now i’m quite sure, i’ve made a mistake, coming here hoping to leave here, unscratched/ unscathed/ unnoticed. a ghost of a man but existence won’t stop licking my dick. kid, you can’t be a man if you’re still playing a child’s game, or maybe we’re all just insane.
line by line, i’m watching time die while i spit out rhymes pretending like i’m doing fine. i design my mind for a crime i’ve committed three hundred million billion �?enough already, enough you’re ready to get stuffed.
crusted skin, dried up wounds that never heal, just my luck, the daylight fuck turned into that dark night fuck turned cold and i forgot to bring a knife to cut through and open up the sky.
now, the true rhyme breaks me in two, three, seven times a million billion light rays reflected off the surface of his silly fate. destiny. is what he calls it when he cannot even call me?
so ring me up a dozen donuts while i ride the energizer bunny down your back. boom boom, like the heart beat that became a bleak beat and now i’m a dead-beat under the hot florida sun reciting the broken beats bringing you that heartless heat to give you the mindless trip down the lane you’ve never even seen, much less, loved, because yes, son, you are that sane sun, that beats that happy drum no longer thinking about how you are the last one.
not me, no not today, not this time, not when this time is looking so fine through the paper view mirror, the pay per view killer, the paid to lose winner.
enough already, oh shit, enough please, we’re ready to get stuffed and leave this so f*ck this.

 

-fish