Rhymes with Duck

Fuck.
Shit.
Bipolar.
Sex.
Love.
Happy.
Slit wrist.
Acid.

Flying through carefully placed rails of a narcotic’s Dream Boat Annie, I’m swimming,

Tracks.
Spoons.
Sleep.
Nodding off,
Sleeves.
Cuts.
Syringe.
Eye-pits.

Curling, crouching on some dirty fucking bathroom in a dive bar. I didn’t wash all of the shampoo out of my hair.

Karaoke.
Shoelaces.
Psychosis.
Tiles.
Laughter.
Morris.
Teeth.
Plastic.

Slamming into the ground, into a coma from mania, drooling, dead.

Offices.
Appointments.
Patients.
Boxes.
Pneumonia.
Notepad.
Velvet.
VCR.

Now I’m better. I’ll do a cartwheel to prove it to you. Look? Pop pills. For thrills. High and low, baby, that’s bi-la-da-dee-do-polar. Tastes like the real thing.

F
U
C
K

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