November 6th, 2011


... happy birthday

Dear skin

Electronic babble

Shove off with thine elastic attitude

You condescending fuck hole, you tiny little prick

You don’t have the persuasion to crash down my power of hope with rationalization

Tower of rubble, shovel dirt back in that open hole

My soul residing? Hiding there

A devilish grin of rich desire, more fire devouring flame

And shame on you, rust beggar, the one I’ve longed for

You splendid whore

No gift perhaps, to reason on the lips of this sad, mad man

Overtaken by a vile dream in which I tumbled to earth on my disassembled feet

And you must not treat me like the others; we are not one in the same

Removed, proved to be of higher honor, least the trumpets wail

Fail to find release from this anchor, rancor of bullshit ties, these drownings

Electronic babble

Tower of rubble – shovel dirt back in that open hole

No gift perhaps to reason on the lips of this sad/madman

God forgive my slightly shifting lines in thought disfiguration

Meat as meat… defeat the source of that which spurns thee

As for me, do not mistake my misgivings as indifference to this madness that surrounds me

Often time I flee from this torturous mindstyle/deathstyle reunion

Just another onion head

Polished meal of spine structure and jaundiced horns

All the endless fragments of this distorted view of life

My soul, sold… My being? Maybe

Toss, turn, burn the smile that tries to waste you

There is no hope in repetitive warfare/nightmare but then again, who the fuck am I to care?

Let us take heed of memories foretold, dear skin

King of queens and Knave of nothing, I

Dear skin

Rozz Williams