Shadow Work? Bitch, I am the Shade...

500 deaths

6 suicides

139 overdoses 

150 medical calamities 

Not even 40. 

A Parker, A Dillinger, A Dowell, A Forg. 

I can pile my burdens with the best of them.

And I hate all four of my families, equally. 

Family is as shit as old friends 

And old friends are as shit as their same old shit.  

I've burned down a classroom.

Been sent to Fort Knox. 

Beat 3 people to near death 

Fought 20 times, lost 2. 

Broke someone's neck. 

And burned down 2 churches and defaced countless others. 

Let's Equate the Shadow...

Vagina sickens me 

Testicles give me no thrill

If you can't swallow a 9 inch dick

You ain't getting on it. So back the fuck up. 

I hate actors, I can't stand poets.

Hang with about 6 people now. 

I Know thousands more that aren't worth knowing. 

Still, isn't worth another 50 years to live here.

Another 5, another 4., another 3...

People will never will be good enough.  

Another 2...

Heroes are a lie. Love is Dead. 

Another One,

Your words are just as shit as your promises. Your character, all of your weaknesses. I whole-heartedly hate half of who I knew and liked half of them even less and spent more of my time honing my crowd being side swiped by the F.O.M.O pussies who kiss eachothers pricks to stroke the ego that never gave value to their being. 

And now here's Patti Smith, with the Pope...

I guess I'll throw another votive candle I once heralded into the trash with all of the other lost artists watching the fake eat the snakes, stroking the pale one home. A liturgy watching fear, face death, to bind belief out of the fear of the Nothing that greets thee. 

Fuck elders. Your silver-haired no relevant having asses that latch to self in a smeared up mirror. Coddle the ticking swatch bomb blood count pulse check apple sucking pension thinking that one Goliath sentence was a jargon soon passing for poetry while half fight braincells with constituents who call it posey, like a wilted Fag. So you can peter puff that paragraph into a false narrative while blowing it out of your ass. 

And I hope the Maverick blend filter blackens your lungs to finally put that fucking dog down. 

You who die by the blows of boredom from shit-bagging homnids walking upright slumped into the egging idiocy of preturbluent nagging...

Are you okay? I don't give one Amelia Earhart Flying Fuck what state remains attached to another bilateral suck pit, dog dicking the red rocket rider friends you blow bi-weekly. Cry your brown sugar tears into sweet loss. You can't face me on your best day, and you couldn't fuck with me on your way out of your last... Cunts, the lot of ye. 

- If you take it personal, write it in your Anne Frank diary. 

You were the children who didn't play well in the sand box. Threw the fit when sharing came, and when you were seperated with your baubles you got enraged at the fuckhead playing with your second hand toys as you grouse at clutched materialism, leering at the lot. You, who you view, finding the destruction by sand kicking your fit to make your pissy pants dry. We lie to ourselves thinking we are equal. If lives held all acount on skin and bone, you wouldn't grovel at segregation. You wouldn't cry about your fucking job.. Lack of pay. Equal? Equal?!!! 

Should any math equate to logic know with the addition of Equality there wouldn't be "Lack" in the fucking dictionary...

I've never seen anyone prefer the floor over a Villa. Do your Roaches have a 401K? OR ARE THEY EATING THEMSELVES TOO, JUST TO STAY AFLOAT?? Did the cocaine cure your impotence? did the booze taste great with every stacked crate you stole from?

And just like the dead dicks before you. I hope you choke on a cold one.