wallowing is widow’s work
quit referencing the worm food
in the dirt-bound hearse
you only live for eons
in a never-ending sequence
of tease and detox
i’ve brought thee
hydroxy-based offerings
and sundried tomato
vanity
lust in lieu of love
this feeble smile
blanketing my primeval child
darling, i’m all torn up
on fine dining

‘shank ho, you really think you can roll with us?
with those shoes? and that hair? and those nails?
pfffft bitch! keep your broke ass at home
you got no business coming
your pussy been dry for months
and i’m a bad bitch and i squirt when i cum
and i’m coming your man’

bad habits die slow
and the good leave with haste
peasants gaze in wonder and climb over their young for a whiff of my tarnished laundry
the world is all empty
so the mind fills it in
and a ho with no passion
is a waste of good skin
i’m inclined towards fine wine
and a relativistic
moral paradigm
i seldom feel compelled to amend my methodology
and look at how you fawn over me
you study while you worship and you take notes, but you cannot grasp
whatever i want, whenever i want it
because his crotch is coupled to wallet
broke is the worst
so fuck you and your skankho ugly purse
diamonds with no flaws
gold all on my person
sin and id
you won’t understand
you’re too basic
whore bodies are sacred
you wouldn’t know beauty
if it fucked you in the mouth
pity to be riddled with such
unrelenting doubt
if you’re looking for a safe space
try the afterlife
i hear they got bright fucking lights
no one wants a basket case
with dead skin and bad taste
sister, you’re a wreck
you’re manure with polish
i’m sorry if it hurts
but i’m just being fucking honest
the consequence of conscience
is you suffer with no solace
dancing on the monuments
that tower over your squalor
sure ho’s have no honor
but your broke ass is fixed
in a harrowing slum
where it hurts
just to exist