cw: sexual assault, violence, oppression, other fun stuff

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Fang of another
knocked loose from a jaw.
Brain in the gutter
spread grit for the fall.
Pain is a mother
gotta bleed for the job.
Time gonna smother
your heartstring's song.

My confidence
gone limp from heat.
Them rallying steps
soft at the knees.

An army we make,
well, I'm a soldier of fake.
The violence we start
got no room for a march.

Been yappin' and actin' like all the trouble
we can't see ain't got no effect on me.
Those people in the steeple ain't that real when we got steel
cages upgraded to half-full class and luxury flats,
and the fat cats who have all that
I've ever wanted--but I can watch them glitter in their golden chat.
All the real songs ain't heard in so long
that we got bitches thinking that protests long gone,
like some absurdity from the
crazy bad-trip hazy recollections
of the feckless art that couldn't start
a revolution if it sucked
back up they ass from every shart.

And I know you think it's funny
to laugh about our death.
Take a selfie on your way down, 
scream your last breath.
All the cows limp like lambs
towards the shadows of a tree.
Rot has frayed the green
leaving cruciform sentry.

If dynamite's in the mix then how come you sounding off a hiss?
Cuz that green cactus the only shit that's blowin' up
but you got Steves turning off the blast of the ghast
cause you want what's built to last.
We're so averse to setbacks
that a replay off our own stage
is tolerable cause our foibles are made to give shame;
for an audience we can't contain.
Cuz ain't none of us choose our privacy to loose
in a batch before oranges memeing angry they signed a patriot act.
All they talking heads said it was good for gand but what's grander
than a gander that honked loud and took a stand; but we can't.

These fucking kids can't even conceptualize a world
that won't cater to their demands and they take
smiles fake and click buttons that shake
endorphins like crack fiends before they even had a wet dream.
How you think they gonna rule this crate,
when the impact of our failure made a cradle for hate,
or are you gonna tell me that moderate Rogans got the slate
wiped clean? You'll fight me for speaking up against a pipe dream
that all the pipes sucked lean ain't gonna spin you round and pound
your last words of consent to keening sound.

Fang of another
knocked loose from a jaw.
Brain in the gutter
spread grit for the fall.
Pain is a mother
gotta bleed for the job.
Time gonna smother
your heartstring's song.

You follow me?
Don't bother me.
I got cake to eat my fate in a diabetic ending.
See, I ain't the martyr you need or a speaker for cold bodies.

The second you like my page twenty others gonna fill your brain,
this cascade of information rocks your station, making every patient
thought gestating a patient read no survival chance
cause screens weren't built to last
and the photons blinking on y'all optic balls
gonna seal what it don't steel
like a woolly mammoths off the grill;
I'm talking tar that leaves no scar
but there's plenty left to heal.

I ain't a doctor just a premature cor'ner.
This ain't the prophecy you need,
but I'm your bum begging for order.
I'm hear to warn you,
but mine ain't nothing special
so I'll cash in your pity.
Need me to sweeten the deal?
Build no statues in your half-used
sanctum of serenity where your sanity lasts.

Fang of another
knocked loose from a jaw.
Brain in the gutter
spread grit for the fall.
Pain is a mother
gotta bleed for the job.
Time gonna smother
your heartstring's song.