The Other Side of Delight.

My pen is a sword

forged in the ice fields of the arctic,

and I use it

to slay the battle rapping polar bears.

I crush diamonds with my teeth

and spit brutal rhymes made of snowflakes

during days of sun flares.

I sleep on a bed of .9mm casings,

and dream of dieing.

My brass wings beat down

the haters, and zombies, and posers.

My legacy is infamy;

knock me out and steal my words,

spread them as if they were your own.

I could care less,

they’re all fucking lies.

Plagued by sanity and the demands

of immortality,

I can barely keep everything glued together.

I’ve broken the spine

of this sad, tired book of nothing.

I’ve broken every creative bone in my body,

with my sledge hammer;

because I’m sick of feeding you nonbelievers

my efforts in blood.

I nailed my self image to the wall

to spit on,

and throw knives at.

I won’t be bothered this evening,

by what you want to hear.

You’ll never even read this,

unless I die tonight;

in which case you can go fuck yourself!

Your opinion means nothing to me,

dance on my grave when I’m gone

see if I give a shit.