Topic: “I'm concerned about people being happy.” — Matt Stone
The Single Cant’alope
..
I am a tax ride off
A taxidermist’s hide
A social parasitic disease
One of a kind
I am burrowed paraphernalia
Swallowed inside
Decompressing myself, waiting to die
and then
I was born
..
Dirt; amongst most things, courses the canvas I dance with
On madness unanswered, I nurture a virtue with few chances
Of future worth and purpose that hurdle in an insolvent hole of inertia
These volcanic serges now circle my scenery of soon to be certain exertion
Though surrendering all option’s seems as organic as monopoly
I micro manage in a silent rice field of dreams.. properly
Told if I sew I can plough, If I plough I can sift, If I sift I can sit
Away from all of this shit
As the formation of fountains litter freedom that I can’t taste
I slave as a creature on a continuous loop that won’t break
My nights have been structured
1 step, rice
2 step, rice
3 step, sigh
4th step-rice
I slump and fluster in punctured time from a cluster fuck of lies
I’m pretty sure this will never cure my cancer
..
Socialism; I’m married to it amongst a chariot of god complexes
From a Christian dictatorship in a Buddhist Monastery of connections
Married, married to it like a Hindu or Muslim contract in sex
Arranged for sodomy and set for slaughter is the impression I get
Underneath the transparent shell of each grain I meld
I feel I have fell victim and become the cancer itself
I’m bleeding out into the dreams I sew, through an enema of disease seeding
As if the sickle was the drawstring aborting my own stream of being
when a man subtly approaches with an inscription
I now have to learn English
I found my first black rice
..