Choke Chain by the Balls

The futility of everything has me
like a choke collar
grinding me to dull complacency
anger sorrow and joy
are flattened to a listless being
a trudge down the concrete path
where even the mother dragging along
her mewling cunt-litter coterie
is not enough to spark a riot
of my typical disgust at humankind
and their condom-condemning gods
whoever I am has gone to seed
placid and serene like a dirty Buddhist
my outrage, bitter horror and chemical merriment
all diseases on the winds
carried off to fire up the fever in others

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