stainless slabs of whose dick is bigger
still it doesn't stop hither as young women portray the whorey
witch of high matriarch of slutdom
and lex death pushers glorify fatal futility of guns
all quite belligerently from the not so distant land of insufficient funds and bastard sons
you're withering away at the hands of dogs and duns
delighted to defoliate wherever some green may run
then disperse to a slow trickle
abandoned, praising the sociopath sickle
over the very pen and mic which cripple
your comely hides from doom's grossly disfigured nipples
so there you stand, knowledgeably weened
and esteemed poise to speak in orders lime lit green
atop a soapbox of the many's trusted screams
this time pause and wipe fortune's slate clean
before allowing slurred stupid to beam
from those idolized lips, brother
things can always be better than this.
- Doseone.
"there is no hayborn tribulation arduous enough."
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