It is, was, were and will always be a filthy place.
Please don't... try.
Pump me full of drugs and
things to remove my lucidity.
beat on me, use me and remove my facade
crumbled and crumpled on the ground
I cry so long that six feet tempts me.
And then I damn you to Hell for the hell you placed me in,
I curse you and you strike me and drug me and remove
Cast-offs, hand-me-downs, waters-under-the-bridge
bitter Spirit, the spirits burn... as one by one they go down.
Churning, they are burning.
My piece is my peace and your final resting place.
Indignant, you may know too much, but is...
there such thing.
I'm so old now, so lesser, a lesser being, beginning to reach towards my end.
No one remembers, except the dust in my filthy place
however, it has promised not to tell.
Written 11 pm -ish December 31, 2014.
Written by Chad Linder
In order for four-fourths of everything.