Bastards at the gate.

Go fuck yourself I said to the boxes lined up at the gate of my soul.

Rusted iron as thick as cannons protects me from the long arm of normalcy

Work.
Means to no end.
Cause/effects your affact.
Self loathing gets passed the gatekeepers of my intelligence.

Death solves nothing

Cowards houl, geeks reek the foul odor of the no.2 pencil.

White picket fence.

Green tailored grass

Here now, I forgot yesterdays key.

Poison becomes salvation

Floating, dry current of chemicals never to be seen.

Darts never hit the bulls eyes, just sorrow, pain and past tenses never to be seen.

Shock fades.
Minds justify.

Cash is the mother of evil.

Microphones become mirrors, blinding the ego.

Static on the old RCA.

Fade.

Common.

Forgotten.