Saturday, 28 November 2015

When A Skin Comes Second You Shoulda Peel

I read somewhere on the Internet the Lamborghini founder
Founded his company after he complained of a mechanical deficiency with his Ferrari
To which Ferrari had told him to fuck off
That is why Bruce Wayne drives a Lamborghini
Like you are still oblivious to committing the same mistake
On me I will never forgive and was never impressed
I will beat you on your own field failure is
The anthem of success I have heard too many times already revenge
Should never be your contention for poetry but pardon this as my only
Means
To toast the toad with literature
Deemed illiterate for the elite
Only neatness will do
Pollute the oxygen with arrogance of experience underground 
The name on a weekly basis you boast about yourself is unheard of
Bad taste is the biggest sin of socialisation 
Bruce Wayne is no longer on the blackboard, so outline his body
Who spat compliments at swine and collected confidence from those deprived
Of happiness
A hero in skinny jeans
The stick figure of hanging man, deep fry the doodling of incorrection
Incorrection is not a word in the dictionary, but Shakespeare was allowed to make up his own
The warrior with the red pen of flaw and injustice
High distinctions for those unworthy, reinforce again the corruption of judgement
It isn't fair
Close your face with the fringe
Hanging off your forehead
The banner of disgrace your hair is ashamed to be a part of you
I will shed my skin on every Monday until every cell is blue with sickness
You are sick in the head like us 
Stop running from the escort 
Welcome a ritual at twelve noon
In a seat as as far from you as possible I will shield my quivering self-esteem
Behind the hippy figure
The monotone microphone inside your voice box
Vibrates off the walls
They painted with
My school fees
Plunge me from the fourth floor onto the bushes of paradise so pretty the islands
Bleach my face in sour opinion of those creaking mouth traps
Is jealousy a good excuse 
An opinion is only an opinion coming from you
I will fall off those notorious stairs
Twenty times and rise only twice because I am just so tired
Being alive is exhausting
And a chore
I have cried to my mother too many times 
She’ll cry by herself after I leave because only that could have raised such a son
I will change the conclusion for your entertainment
I am the surgeon you have burdened, again, with the janitor’s cheque
Keep your compliments to yourself
And superficial concern is horrifying
Too many times
I have gone to bed depressed
There is a ship sinking inside my chest
The temperature of this freezing sensation
The coldness that clogs the windpipe of human anatomy too complex
For the artist to comprehend
Your indifference may be terrifying, but it is your superiority, that scares me the most
I have always been a sore loser but who can blame this loss so great to penetrate my dignity 
What is this feeling
What is this fucking feeling for fucks sake 
That I am feeling
It hasn’t a name but what’s in a name that Bruce Wayne by any other title
Would still be the judgmental bastard
Who narrates our fiction
The uniform of white and black costume is the informal custom of depressed people  
The skunk whose smiles hide those thorns behind lips barely there, chapping  
I unleash anger at four o’clock
In the morning it isn’t such a bad time