The Spun Spin Syndrome

I want to drink
until I am ninety percent alcohol.
I want to stab the
family traced I.D.
to the forehead of
the bartender.
I want to do a lot of things
I have yet to accomplish.
Capishe?
Its all about me in 2008.
I'd kill to go to Cleavland,
down the driving.
I'd kill for this
state of residence
to not be Pa.
I want to make back
alley blow darts
with pins and
you hair. I want to soak
em in my poison and
shit in everyones sandwich.
Lets talk happiness.
Lets talk slumber through vibrations
and mom talk.
I dropped my jaw back in
05 and have been waiting for a phone call,
letter,
line of some sort.
Find me a late night peddler.
Find me someone who ain't
afraid to burn holes.
Find me someone who ain't me
and never will be.
I want to give shock treatment
to my fillers
between weekends.
What is your unit of measurement?
Mine
is the mind.
Mine is
the waste of time.
Mine is the the four
fingers doused in slime.
I have fallen into a steady regressions into tonight being
the night before last night's night before that.
Shoot me.
Pop out the star with gun shots.
Longing for a kiss
replaced with 28
missing space.
I told you I was going to shoot.
I told you I would trip over loose laces.
I told you
that at the tenth pace
I would run
but before doing so I would take aim
and curve ball the
pistol as hard as I could
directly in your direction.
I am sick of rambling.
I am sick.
This is a play ground
merry-go-round.
This is a triple dog dare.
I will cut your tongue out
with a letter opener
and save the stamp in
a baseball card collection
book.
I won't ever look back.
I wont ever look forward.
Today is the day
of poison.
Today is the day
of passion.
Today blows
everything to come
out of the fucking water.
Look up and see the abyss.
Look down and see the ground.
Same story
different smile.
Why have you forsaken me?