Store bought soul-
freshly mined coal;
burns to comfort
the devil in chains,
soothed by evil flowing
as tar through his veins-
collapsing under the weight
of a fools tendency to hate.
Try to save me motherfuckers,
but I tell you, it's too fucking late-
unless you like to emotionally masturbate.
Don't try to bond with me,
because, trust me, we do NOT relate.
Everything good about you or me
is something that one should sedate
into oblivion; who said we had decisions?
All I got is blood dripping visions
of you leaving me the fuck alone.
Woman, your love isn't like water
flowing over my heart-shaped stone,
just air, nitrous filled with laughter.
And no, slut, I certainly don't like your brother.
Don't dance, there's no chance
of my cock rising to the occasion-
but I just might be inspired to
flash silver and make the fatal incision
deep into you 'n turn your face blue.