Smack the damn machine
When it doesn't contort to me
Resist, resist, resist!
The fire inside me rages
For the love of fuck
Won't you hop off my beer?
I know Jesus wouldn't like it if you drew any more near
To the sounds of Helvetica
It's so loud and smells of old rice
Ah, but that just means it's nice
It's ripe
You're ripe
I'm ripe
We're ripe
I'm bleeding from the forehead
Only in slamming it against the table thought I to make it stop
Because the nurses did say to apply pressure
So I thought I'd make myself quite uncomfortable
By going to the bookshop
And yelling until I couldn't feel my gallbladder.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horor(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
