Pied Piper Poems
Unnecessary expletives. Fucking. erupt from your page,
napalm the villagers who rise up with pitchforks!
Only those with insight to see beyond
rants wrote, shock-n-awe scribblings, or psychiatric paper pleas
ingest, then vomit your faux fruit.
Get a fucking clue!
It's not awesome, it's not clever, and
no amount of cunt-fisting-psycho-serial-animal-fucking-child-porn-murder will
avail your Orpheian sacrifice any deeper meaning.
Let's have a poet-pity-party:
and so, you take blade to frail shell? So what?
Neuroses gnaw at your dead poets society petition. So what?
Depression and depravity are your bed-mates? So what?
Brilliant, bravo, are the cheers of the Hitler youth.
Open your fucking eyes!
Read between the lines, or is your
intellect incapable of amassing enough
neurons to fire at once, that you might
garner anything but the shallow-grave synopsis?
Stop! For the love of all that is...
holy fuck! you can't stop, can you?
ingrained is your need to keep pouring out
this same old shit.
By DB (06/16/2011)