Sinning is today's praying baby.
Do it well and hard and fucked beyond all reason.
Lemme know if you have anything in "Title" form you would like me to babble about.
Here's some shite...
You call it madness, I call it a way to pass the time.
We tore out our hearts and sent them blazing into the sky....
snuffing out the stars one by one, until God found himself in a very dark and lonely place.
I count on two hands and all ten toes all the times you said you loved me.
I get dizzy with obsession ready to call on a comic book assassin to take out the object of my affection.
But the big ass coward in me slinks away, tail between my leg as the warm piss in the corner becomes cold and reeking.
I stand on a highway stolen from a "Texas Chainsaw" film and wait for two semi trucks to come crashing into this body.
Sipping a cheap beer and saying a prayer while visualizing a slow dance with you in a seedy truck stop, grinding our bodies together to some fucked up Merle Haggard song.
And just before the explosion gets it's death on with twisted metal and the smell of gasoline...
I step out of the way because I fall in love with a complete stranger watching from across the street.
I toss the figurative dice and pray it doesn't land on snake eyes.
Staggering her way my walk becomes a strut...
and if all goes well, this silly little tale will end up with a strong "R" rating.
Overcome this ritual of self destruction
Bright sunshine breaking through broken blinds, screaming to warm tired bones and strained muscle.
Low humming air conditioner claiming the life of yet another trapped lizard or rat who just couldn't get smart enough to go back the way it came.
A slight caress of the hand that feels like silk.
A swallow of white pills to ease the pain of being.
A whisper in the ear that sends shivers down the spine
and a quick turn and the owners voice is gone... she's gone.
Empty hallways and empty rooms.
Furniture dead and gone, comfortable chairs holding someone different in their fabric arms.
Nothing but the smell of static in the air as small particles of dust float visibly past the beams of sunshine.
If it wasn't so hard this could be easy.
If this wasn't so hard I could almost enjoy it.
Sitting here waiting for night to swallow this whole thing
I have become and surrounded myself with.
Flesh and bone, marble and stone.
At the moment...
we failed at living clean, tasty, sex free lives.
Choking the Nun on the street corner.
Demanding a prostitute to hold you for the dollar and change in your pocket.
Pissing in the pool.... in he dead of winter... with your pants on.
Loving you is easy cuz yer beautiful.
I smile while sticking the knife in the belly of some coked up supermodel
on page 35 of "People" magazine.
It's easy baby.
It's a little rock and roll and a teeny tiny bit of bullshitting
yourself onto Santa Claus's "Nice" list.
TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!
|Date/Time:||Wednesday September 19, 2007|
|Time:||8:00am - 8:00pm|
|Notes:||THIS IS VEGAS’ TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!!!! So don't forget mates..err you’ll be walkin da plank!|