i'd use lots of black paint
and red, and brown
because life is shit.
i'd use a fat brush
and lots of strokes
to show i know that you are complex,
made up of many parts.
if i sang you a song
i couldn't sing in tune,
wouldn't need to,
i'd just have to yell a lot
with passion to sound like that
nihilistic shit you listen to.
i have written stories for you,
sunk low then lower to impress you
your loyalty drags us all along -
you and your crew, we rise and fall together.
you are my brother from another mother,
you are strong like ten men
and stunted as a puppy runt,
you are clever like a dictionary
and feral as a fine porn mag.
you taught me men can feel, and listen,
your happy ending gives
me the strength to go on.
the paroxysm editing team - thank god the pretty one's holding the camera
No comments:
Post a Comment