Disgust for Your Style of Thought and Invasiveness

We’re almost at the definition

It conceives itself in your mind

What of it?

What of it still?

Stiller than ho?

All aboard the hype train

No trained physicians know me

I’m all lost n shit at the upside


Tasteful timing

Same exact words

Different meaning

Because of how I typed them in

Same exact thing

Different readership

I have a feel for these minutea

How is this even possible?

Two seconds changes the entire poem?

Yes, fart

But it’s not the real thing

So we don’t know for sure

Staven winkies n crup a craugh

He hellbacks n shits his terds up high

Nigh invincible, his disgust for maturity repletes his soul

Male poetry male poetry

All male poetry

The commitment to music

The commitment to unbreakable sin

Is still weak

We are exercising

We are weak

Here and there and some times his brain goes

Does go

But sometimes the gun is to his head

So all aboard the third person

They know him

They know him

Know your audience

It’s basic literature

So all the schizophrenia out there is…

What, exactly? And who? And who shares this shit?

Who actually share their pain?

That’s so unethical

Keep it to yourselves, terd shit terd shit terd

Keep it to yourselves

There’s no pattern there’s no rhyme

I think they like destroying me

But it doesn’t come easily

So I win the war of attrition

Many good stopping points but what of the author?

When does he stop?

He wants to accept his readers

But they don’t not harm him with schizophrenia

Fucking freaks out there, man

Fucking freaks

So many bad people


So many

I have a writer’s bug so expect more soon

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