Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
We are the ultimate sick
People are a virus.
When everything is said and done,
They are the revolver in Russian roulette.
We taxi the disease of hate back and forth,
And let it fester within, our bodies acting like
A sauna and begging it to sweat more disregard.
Our veins run thick with envy,
We are an embargo of dread
Pretending to be all gangsta when we are
Simple beasts of paranoia.
We have no radar for simplicity
And rely solely on our libidos for decisions.
We are all destruction and modernization,
With little concern for the future.
People are a virus to which there is no cure...
12-27-11
When everything is said and done,
They are the revolver in Russian roulette.
We taxi the disease of hate back and forth,
And let it fester within, our bodies acting like
A sauna and begging it to sweat more disregard.
Our veins run thick with envy,
We are an embargo of dread
Pretending to be all gangsta when we are
Simple beasts of paranoia.
We have no radar for simplicity
And rely solely on our libidos for decisions.
We are all destruction and modernization,
With little concern for the future.
People are a virus to which there is no cure...
12-27-11
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
We are the ultimate sick
We are the ultimate sick