you know who you are

perhaps ill be as cool as you one day.

or maybe youll stoop down to my level,

then we'll play. I mean,

I'm down for a good time, but

you are just so sky high.

save me your sympathies,

I am writing symphonies.

The fuel you feed me,

I am burning seas of

your filthy disease.

Leave it to the breeze, moving

your poison that pollutes

my breathing.

supersize me,

so patronizing, but

there's no disguising

your blatant lying.

1/11

A living dream, being

asleep in a deadly wake

where we're all zombies, a lethal

display of our mummified and

disarrayed, subliminal state. And our

parasitic tendencies feast upon our

narcistic ineffiencies, for we are our

own blood-sucking vigilantes, avenging the

crimes of our own misdeeds.

Remember, we are zombies, formed from

our furtive infidelities, the docile nature of which

roams wild in its interrogation of our

virtualized humanity. A ravenous and

gluttonous banquet of our dwindled vitality.

Metaphysical fatality.