Poetry Don't Work On Whores

She throws herself at pedestrians
Because that's what society dictates
An offering to the celluloid gods
Orange coated in their worthless majesty
A dry hole in her body creates a vacuum
That engulfs everything she touches
It could set the polar ice caps on fire
Uncover Atlantis as a barren desert
I feel blessed that she walked past me
As if I dodged a bullet coated in disease

Deocoding Organic Material

Nothing to say. Searched through the sewer with its bone pipes and gray matter waste. Most people can form ideas from memories of past events they were never involved in. Call it a major religious experience, epiphanies gained from CRT and binary deities. Oh yes, they are all in on this conspiracy. These gods hide behind radiation pulling the strings like some mythical NWO. Their flock graze suburban fields and chant pop songs mixed with indecipherable acronyms. You could say these followers are "graverobbers' but then you wouldn't be any different. Neither am I.