Maintain contact with society through bit roles and cameos.
Massive gain of notoriety by performing in donkey shows.
Stand firmly against the rising tide of false humanity.
Ignore the world before you utter cries of insanity.
Shouts, stirs, and slurred words bring about the panic attack.
Beating heart and heavy breaths, the perfect soundtrack.
Crowds of foes hop from pub to bar to tavern.
Hermit on the hill masks loneliness with paintings in the cavern.
Walks down, into town and encounters the perpetrated hate.
A shake of the head and a twitch of the hand more than enough to incriminate.
Hustles forward, slamming into the mound of baiting flesh.
Should have stayed at home, never meant to mesh.
Rising from soot guarantees a constant cycle of second place.
Can't say you'd be better off to never have entered the race.
Hatred of hatred is the consumption of the self.
Rage stored in a water bottle is never good for the health.
Eventually, you'll find yourself giving up the reigns to the cockpit.
By the way, I think this poem is about taking a massive shit.
Last edited by Irish; 06-11-2010 at 07:10 AM.