Play Free

But more to the point: I’m tired and upset and I don’t know why this is all so hard. I don’t want to do it I want to be honest. I don’t want to lie in my art. Why are people telling me to lie with my art. I don’t want to do that I want to be honest.

There goes another cherry, raspberry, bleuet, etc. etc. down the freeway causeway whatever shits and giggles memories you had must’ve been siiiiiiickkkk

But fuck, blick, whatever language you swear in, tell me: Does your mother still sing to you at night?

Are you an astronaut (yet)?

Can I have your autograph?

Each signature is so unique

Why are some worth more than others?

I don’t want to lie

I want to be honest with my art

Why are people telling me to lie with my art

Gun to head

I will slip up

And a trigger will be pulled

We just don’t know in which direction

Backward or forward

Up or down

Intravascularly or epidermally

Sick sin, sick sin, soul

Send me satan’s sauce

Send me the eye balls you had as a child

I don’t want this anymore

I don’t want this imbalance

I want to talk to my brother

And I want to be honest with my mother

Why all the gay love?

Why not?

Why all the secrecy?

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just leave me alone

It’s gone on long enough

There are others, they say, and some are so high–have been so high–for months

Come down, nasal propaganda marijuana factory

I’m your best friend TOnight

Or some such

And so it goes on

I don’t do it correctly

I need to rectify the matter

Please just go on without me

I’m capable of holding my own in the rear

Please, brother, tell me more about yourself

I don’t want mother to die and we didn’t know each other while she was alive

Or maybe she will know we will

Or maybe she won’t know a damned thing

Maybe her mattress will engulf her in a burial ritual of fire and stems

And computers and televisions and radio antenna

Why? oh Why? Is it like this

I don’t want to lie with my art

Please, just let me be free

And I want to stop,

I don’t want to be the monkey bending over backward

To you

Grossesse

I don’t want to do this

Just let me do what I want

I’m here in my own memory

I’m working too hard

Help me

I don’t want to lie with my art

I want to end it when I want

And that’s all

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