What a Pity

the dance ends before the record spins
what a pity
a man half-born, a lifetime trapped in cunt
what a pity
in love with your own voice, never getting the attention deserved
never overcoming your disorders: obsession, compulsion, attention deficit
but we already covered that last
what a pity
tormented by Christ, fantasy, misinformation
flunky in a world that just isn’t the way you feel it ought to be
so you attack it for the things it is and ain’t,
casting upon it a reflection of your personal failings:
obesity, impotency, addiction,
whore mongery…
these corrosive agents dribble from your greasy lips
and eat away at your enemies, who,
numbered among them, is anybody happy,
physically fit, enjoying a rollicking sex life, unboughten
with a full head of long faggoty hair
what a pity
people who feel good exist
what a pity
they live lives free of the self-inflicted hatred
you feel for yourself and use all your power
to lay upon them until gun barrels clatter
between teenage teeth and the
suicide toll rises
what a pity
you refuse responsibility
what a pity
the record hits a snag and finally you dance
to the skipping beat over and over… eternally repeat forever
what a pity
you will never recognize this for damnation
as the rest of us do

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