so i got stoned to proposition a prose
about you, i suppose
for who you do and don’t have ’round
while removing your clothes
and why it matters to me well
as we know i’m merely composed
of jealousy and rage and
freezing and cold;
so you take pictures and smile
and oh all the while
all of the past goes out like a style
like when god is disproved
and i’m still in denial
taking the scientists and athiest
to trial,
forgive me a bit
if i stutter and shit
speak with my fist
get red as a brick
my throat full of bile.