You know,
those words are forbidden.
The voice is chipped away,
with a chisel
like sculpting clay.
They call it art.
Make it appear as you see it.
Let them decide.
As long, as you do it right.
Your words, are forbidden.
Your truth is denied.
You do not exist.
Your opinion is not real.
Who gives a fuck?
How do you feel?
Chop, chop, back to it!
Tight skirt, tight lips, tight thighs.
Break the rules per description
with uncertainty and lies.
Go to your corner.
Don't you cry.
Blend in with the flowers,
…let me get you high.
You wont feel a thing dear.
It's all normal you know.
Get in single file now.
Ok girls, here we go!
A thought? An idea I trust?
Oh no, we can't have that.
Another one bites the dust.
Gone crazy, that's what I hear.
Count her out, another one lost.
Such a sad state of affairs.
You know,
they call it art.
Especially when perfectly crafted,
by and by.
Clasp the golden rod across her lips.
Do it! And lock it tight.

Ramble, chaotic, free verse.

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