Fucking adorable man-boy of brim hat anarchy and handkerchiefs that itched his nose.
Why pile all that anger in your eyes
and walk around selling it to the naive strangers
that worship you like the circus freak you are
so uncomfortable in your own skin and bone marrow
tired of rusty bubblegum talk
and narrow digressing roads to the park
your cloth handbag
and true moon eyes
cloud of Pandora hair
and molested lips
you shine like a beacon of animosity
on the universe's tides
the brick lighthouse with linear, stale beams
deserted iron over the lenses of your tea-shades
Pure maudlin
pure maudlin
rushing out of schoolboy arms
brushing against your cynical palms
carmine red vermillion streams
picking docilely at your childish brood
swaying violently with your volatile mood
you're a fetus in the scheme of things
I'm a watcher with visual endings
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