There are a whole lot of things here
I am wary but proud to not be a cunt.
So I try to bleed but cannot
Much as I may try I am deluded
Things all as they are seem so conclusive
Un literate by convention
It is my sole intention to rip apart your intention
And wait while you bleed out
And shout 'I am lord'
As many others have tried but have nowhere to start
Only but with a difference earned with conceit
Of old age and a weary soul.
So I stand seemingly alone pointless with no home.
Oh mother do I yearn for your teat
To comfort me as I await the enevitable treat.
But it is death.
Is of no coming when I arrive home
Only to find you spent and gone.
