Furniture

This morning, as I had my pretentious coffee,

I rifled through a pretentious magazine,

That came with the unpretentious papers.

Saw an advert for a store selling armchairs,

Their tagline was “Inspired by a dream”;

Amused, I wondered what furniture I’d churn,

If it were to be inspired by my latest dream,

A double homicide, a slasher on the lose,

With the knife dripping fresh blood,

Being chased by hungry hungry hippos.

Freud and Neitzsche, can you hear me?

Why do I always have red on my mind?

Yoga and Capoeira, Pilates and Jogging,

In Under Armour and no underpants,

Nothing brings more peace and joy,

Like dreaming of steel knife in windpipes.

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Asswipe

“I am God”, said an asswipe.

Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.

All you bloody did was see a shrink,

Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.

Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,

You proclaim that you are the best.

You can walk on water,

Do things like in the gutter.

Make wine out of pee-pee,

Glamorous gold shit-shit.

Fucking whores on a schoolnight,

I’mma choke your windpipe.

Don’t mess with me, dickhead,

Might light fire to your fucking bed.

Explicit

Hydrofluoric acid in your bathtub,

Rat poison in your rosé.

Push you off the tallest building,

Dunk your harlot head in the sea,

Ram a shiv in your jugular,

Brakes pedals on your car, cut loose,

A barrel of a gun pointed to your brain

The devil’s fork driven in your chest.

Bleed and don’t breathe,

The grim ripper awaits in black

While I grind your bones to powder.

Go through the nine hells,

Screaming and helpless.

Burn, bitch and stop living.

Don’t hide your horns;

We all see through the Hermes scarf.

Perfume and lotions ain’t gonna help,

The castigated trollop that you are.

I paid it forward, you fuckhead.

Thy will pay back, blood and all.