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Lizard Dookie

Little ball of chaos.

Ain’t I cute? How do I

Sustain my pain in the ass;

Little ball of raucous;

Raccoon in the trash;

Slick ball of spit; piece of shit

Fresh out the poop shoot.

Shoot, shoot, shoot me.

All I want is love -

And your trash.

Where’s your secret stash -

A vile ball of nothing,

My veins are woven into the Void;

A black hole sucking the light

Out of any good night

Because you need to shoot, shoot, shoot me; I need to shoot, shoot, shoot me.

What color would even be my brain blood?

Probably a shade of mud

Because I’m filthy.

I’d smear it on my chest,

Giving you all my good-goddamn best

With spunk like the slizzard funk of a degenerate; yawping the Tao of all da lizards sailing da world w/ our gizzards of vulgarity unfurled. I was never destined to be a productive outlet, only the body discovered in a ditch you nonchalantly skim-read over in the morning paper you’d soon forget. With that said, am I still not enough? Eh, tough.

No need t’whine about it while I caper along. This is my cheesy song of hope.

It might sound like deprecation,

But I know my appreciation -

The wealth within myself -

And whether there’s a god or not,

I ain’t got time smoking that dubious dope. I’m the happy-go-lucky pope to my own castle; Mr. Misanthrope the world’s crappy-go-yucky mood ain’t gonna hassle. People these days wish they were born in a different age. Not me. Nope, not today. Today’s my turn to write the next page of the next chapter of my happy-ever-after on this spectacular planet,

Lovin’ every minute I cope

With or without you,

With or without you,

With or without you.

It’s a new dawn. It’s now my say.

And I’m feeeeeeeling fine.


With Life such an absurd joke

And we gotta interpret the punchline,

You think I have care to spare

If I’m another layer of your life’s blank canvas scrupulously scribbled on since the bebop of birth? Not worth it.

Act like that. Talk like this. Picture perfect.

All American reject from the world detached. I pray you never know the lousy lows I’ve scratched. I’m wicked and tried; flippant and fried; lotus-style positioned on a Venus Fly Trap. Let it eat me and dissolve my bones all alone like flies like me were destined for it’s egregious enzymes, absolved of my crimes.


Sleazy disease. Yep, that’s me. Looking for my soul to squeeze. Easy-peasy’s the way to feel something’s wrong within, but not so easy-peasy to keep Chagrin, that mean motherfucker, from tryin’ to tucker out this ancient spirit. I’m the cacti poke all on my oddy knocky that keeps on keepin’ on. In my own book I’m beatifically okie-dokies, stoking that ember that may one day be the birth to a blazing hearth in December.


Unapologetic, poetic, firework spaz shirking off your vibes if they don’t jive with my jazz. Please, sir, I want some more, some more mentally twisted razzmatazz that’s not a fricken bore: a warm greeting of our inner gods that’s emotionally haunting; genuine amour. That’s what I’m wanting. Not you folks with your fucking Tik-Tok jokes and flaunting. Ice challenge this. Fire challenge that. Camera, camera, camera. Lights, action, suck it in; don’t ya look fat. The real cringe is how y’all Columbine each other with absurd standards for ammo; left there looking like Swiss cheese with your insecurities. Lift each other up.

Tear each other down,

You little balls of chaos

With the souls of a clown.

But not me. Nope, not me. It’s true.

I’m just a piece of shit lizard

Spitting his peace in the void,

Trying to make his way through.

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