stonerfromohio
Bluelighter
Cultural prototypes come in a generic package and spout phallic stage humor
The demon manifested from the churches repressed sexuality
The United States is the best dressed poverty in the world
Can’t pay for diapers or bills but we can buy 20 inch rims, a pack of marbols
And a case of 24
Plugged into the TV
Deaf from the ipod
Senses bombarded
IQ defecated by fluoride
Aspartame and sucralose poisons the masses
Nobodies awake
The herd chases mortgage payments
And a perfect lawn
Work till your 75
Extorting for your living
Waiting to go to heaven after death
Because its hell right now
Lost in future rewards
Or corpses of the past
Never stopped to hear the music
Stuck in the treadmill
Never can get your fill
Soon your over the hill
Still consumed by your will
Death draws near
You repress the shrill
Life slipped right through your fingers
While you clutched memories of “better times”
Now your house grows mold
And your hair falls out
You hide away and pout
Drown the sorrow in the cubbard
Obsess over fictional characters of image slides
Create drama to consume your time
Anything to hide you from yourself
Your subconscious remains just that hidden away
On a closet shelf in your mind
Somewhere you cant find
Enclosed in a safe
With the key destoryed
Anything to keep these existential thoughts away
For another day that soon will come no longer
And you will depart this world having never known yourself
The demon manifested from the churches repressed sexuality
The United States is the best dressed poverty in the world
Can’t pay for diapers or bills but we can buy 20 inch rims, a pack of marbols
And a case of 24
Plugged into the TV
Deaf from the ipod
Senses bombarded
IQ defecated by fluoride
Aspartame and sucralose poisons the masses
Nobodies awake
The herd chases mortgage payments
And a perfect lawn
Work till your 75
Extorting for your living
Waiting to go to heaven after death
Because its hell right now
Lost in future rewards
Or corpses of the past
Never stopped to hear the music
Stuck in the treadmill
Never can get your fill
Soon your over the hill
Still consumed by your will
Death draws near
You repress the shrill
Life slipped right through your fingers
While you clutched memories of “better times”
Now your house grows mold
And your hair falls out
You hide away and pout
Drown the sorrow in the cubbard
Obsess over fictional characters of image slides
Create drama to consume your time
Anything to hide you from yourself
Your subconscious remains just that hidden away
On a closet shelf in your mind
Somewhere you cant find
Enclosed in a safe
With the key destoryed
Anything to keep these existential thoughts away
For another day that soon will come no longer
And you will depart this world having never known yourself
