Death Scream
It's coming.
Death is pacing in my head.
Back and forth at the doctors offices.
And in those hotel rooms.
And even in your arms.
Like it is becoming stronger and stronger.
Feeding on the weakness of my mind.
The hallucinations of happiness.
The satisfaction of sex.
Every filthy cigarette,
Drugging me into submission.
Filling my brain with buzzed bliss.
Numbing the world which is slowly consuming the raw flesh of every square inch of my. The bone and muscle and pulsation cartilage of this weak and vile, pathetic excuse for a free-thinking human. My ear piercings scream phony to even the night walking whores and money greedy pimps of every dirty poor city. I was given a gift, for which i have misused in every sense possible.
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