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the collective consciousness

	really, itís just the same old bitch
	about how no one
		wants to be wrong
		or on the receiving end
		of the dick.

one last breath iíll ever
have to take.  nearing the photo finish
there is nothing sadder than acceptance of second place.
	a general loss of the will to fight...
		donít fight the tide
		youíll	only	drown	faster.

(weíve got monkeyís, people, pets.
who/what isnít for my amusement).  

	canít ever be rid of myself, no need to try.  
	where is the logical conclusion when i need it?
		so much for the glory of the grave...

respected strange convolutions
in pretty run on heat.  
baby keep those gums flapping
cause your xxx
mc donaldís made me fat
might just be onto
another stream of 
consciousness non-thought.

	meth? why reinvent the wheel
	or cocaine?
	we need more new drugs
	of a novel origin
		to expand our 
		minds and collapse our 
		lungs/exploding arteries turn-me-on.

itís always a joke
till youíre the one
on stage
suffering a cheap pain.

	you wonder what happened to mom,
	god, the meds, 
		in reflection
		always stand behind the mirror.

inject substance at will.

can you afford to pay off the consequences?
	burn tissue grown to starve...
youíre sleeping with their skulls
as pillows.

	by the way,
	good luck
	trying to find an idea/needle
	in an arm
	that hasnít already been plunged.

justify your stupidity
by any means necessary.

			the monsters who made me...
				am i a monster
				like the monsters who	
				made me?

a life lead trying to 
pacify cruelty
by passing on the blame
to the people who did
this or that...
		suffering a null void.

cheap romantics.
	itís okay to wish
	you were dead.  the feeling is universal.  we all agree.
	we all support the belief
	that the world is shit and so are you....
		as the symphony swells and laughing fat men cry.
	they are lonely.
			looking for a blow job wake up call
			to bring them back
			to whatever is living.  

weíre all attuned to sorrow
and suffocating under it
	or maybe thatís just me?
one frequency.
one smog for all the lungs.
one headstone.

a revolution from within.  fed off of cosmetics.

		we are love.  came from last stands, midnight orgies,
			to much drugs and mom
			forgot to take her pill or so thatís the way
				your father tells it.
		we are the broken condoms
			big mistakes.
		we are love.  now go out and learn to fly.

use your point
to slit your wrist.
substance is swaying...

	real politick:
	go out and blow up a building,
	cause itís your choice
		to either
		save us
		or kill us 

			i stick my finger in half way and get embarrassed.
			i go home to shut it out.  forget. 
			nah, nah.
				itís YOU, you
					not fucking ďthemĒ
				who wants so bad to forget.
			continue on with your behind the back incisions
				talking a lot
				because youíre hoping
				someone else
					will do

nothing more dangerous
than action
without protection...
	cash, friends, scapegoats
	to hold hands with
	when times are bad.

itís okay.
i too
want to die fast,

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