survive thrive die

You cannot trust the wants spoken by anyone.  
People avoid the space between their ears like it's quarantined for an unidentified infection,
their mind a toxic spill which they dare not tread toward  lest their behavior become mutated into a more accurate representation of what they actually think and feel.  
They know truth is unwelcome, they've learned this from birth and beyond,
ever since they were told not to touch their genitals or say that this or that person smells when it was obvious to them that they did.  
This is when they opened their subconscious for its ill business of swallowing and digesting every undesirable honesty that would threaten the pleasantry of their necessary social standards where people come to be accepted in public and rejected in private.  

Come for the desperate need for understanding, stay for our delicious bullshit frosted with the sweetest smiles the mirrors can reflect.....
fillings, bleached whitened strips sticky gaggy paste, caps and crowns; our real teeth began dying a long time ago.  

Come for your princess, come for your prince....go home with a substandard compromise of lower expectations that you'll cloak in darkness and liquor blurred vision.  
Truth won't make your dick hard...truth won't get your pussy wet.  
truth can't make cum

Impairing the senses with intoxicants is the biggest, most successful business the human race has ever known.  
Bigger than love.  
Bigger than sex.  
Indeed the two would not exist, or rather, Persist without them.  

Sometimes you gotta be drunk to fuck that cunt or suck that dick or shake that hand take the shot in the eye blink that out bitch and loosen up (those jeans, that top, your collar, that asshole) it's a fuckin' party after all.

What's your name and where do you live?  
I need to know where to dump the body when I'm finished with it.  Maybe---maybe---maybe you're just fucking

Intoxication has never been about anything but self-destruction to me;
I call poison poison and death death.  
Chemical spill delusions and septic shit tank rationale festering amorality like methane or carbon monoxide, an odorless, tasteless slow sleepy suicide;
you'll never know what hit you or why you didn't care.  

(You are refined:  silk dresses on a whore, wool suits on a gigolo, ignorance ordained with a degree and I can smell your decadence beneath your perfume and cologne.  
Peasant with a royal makeover, don't remind me where I come from,
I bled myself of that and I am an empty vessel waiting to be filled with anything
like culture like elected elite like they say like do like
has always hated people like I used to be like I believed and always hated myself as always have wanted to be like those who put this self-loathing in me.....I'm designed for persistence not resistance.)

only the weak will be permitted to survive