Juxtaposition Don't come to me with your
sob stories
Because I'm an author
who wrote the book on being hopeless
and desolate...
I have a unique writing style
where I personify truth
and beat his ass
with indiscretion,
and juxtaposition is my prose.
I whore her
and fuck her
with every indecent verb and adjective
and spew sperm
plastered to skyscrapers
so millions of welfare babies
can dissect
and lick
upon section 8's capable toes.
So while I'm jacked in to this phone jack
and jack off,
I do them a favor by letting my nature ooze
and wiping my slate clean in the bathroom.
The only suffering they endure then
is the whirlpool of the toilet.
I abort them.
So credit bureaus won't report them,
I abort them.
So INS won't deport them,
I abort them.
So WIC checks won't support them,
I abort them.
So NYPD won't court them...
however, one slips away,
and grows up to be a crack whore.
Accomplishes a dream of being loved
becuase that guy behind the deli
with that coke in his hand,
selling her hopes
and taking her dreams,
is infatuated.
They have a date every other night,
and she sniffs his love
and she sticks his love into her arms
and she swallows his love
and she smokes his love...
Strung out on an A-train going nowhere,
she lays next to two cops,
crying silently.
And I write in the caption balloon,
quotation marks...
"That bitch stinks, don't she?"
And I make them get off.
Ha!
Don't come to me with your sob stories,
for I am an author of sorrows,
a master at my craft
drafting thruth through experience,
knowledge of sadness
and acceptance of it.
I don't just rape juxtaposition,
no.
In my sick, twisted way,
I justify my actions
by calling it
"love"...
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