I asked my daughter,
What dya want to be,
When you are a big girl?
Her answer made me
Want to dig my own grave,
On a stolen plot somewhere,
And jump in, without a tank
Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.
What an oxymoron!
I didn’t even want the grave marked,
For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.
Continuing with the photography, this was pre-meditated. Four Budweisers down, I wa able to carefully peel off the stickers off the bottle and label them on the tabby.
He has been my billboard for most anything.
🍻 Do not drink and drive. Put the bottle aside, pull over, take a swig, and then drive.
Nooo… seriously, it is not a question of capability, it is a question of safety. Drink at home or Uber. 😬
Whoops! I just farted.
Lucky nobody’s around.
Smells terrible too,
Like a corpse in the ground.
There’s no meaning,
To anything in the world.
It’s all there and not there,
At the same time.
I am trying to rhyme so hard,
It hurts, because words were made,
To communicate, not heard.
Payback’s a bitch, you’re right Stephen K,
But there’s also good karma,
And all that bullshit people sell you.
The world isn’t dead, just not “woke”,
For every struggle two hands go through,
There’s six more to help you.
Is this good enough to rap, I wonder,
Heck, who cares, as long as the beats are thunder.
I have so much to say, I forget what it is;
I pay a shrink to remind me this.
Catharsis is getting it out of your system,
But what if your system is full of holes?
Shouldn’t all the pain escape through the pores?
I make no sense, but I see the light.
Not at the end of the tunnel,
But right here by my side.
A little birdie pooped on me today.
And they say it’s good luck.
People say shit about shit.
The shrink said,
You are clinically demented.
I said, I shouldn’t be.
Because a free bird felt,
I was good enough to be shat upon.
As my Michelin paunch strolled down the road,
My four eyes spotted a skinny mom,
Not a hair out of place,
A little black dress,
With a toddler at her heels,
Bet she’s never heard of crisps.
Then I looked at my shoes,
But oh my!
The lipids got in the way.
The ogling goblins,
In their mid-forties,
Would give an arm,
Just to see her charm.
Can’t blame them skinny women,
They work hard and reap the rewards.
While us lesser mortals with a glass of wine,
Dream of a fairy tale like a swine.
A mangled, half eaten frog,
It’s mouth and eyes open,
Ready to leap and kill.
By the bark of the tree,
In the mangy grass,
Stood the shadow,
In the pouring rain,
Shielding it’s eyes,
From the brightly shining sun.
Cymbals and tambourines,
Knocked heavily above,
As the ant-troops marched.
Dotted with water,
Bathed with light,
Specks of blood,
Shards of bone,
Splat! on the dirt.
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