Oh how tiresome it has become,
To bequeath to the diggers-of-lore
That I have not fallen in love
And by disability of Sociopathy
Have masked all I can into tiresome
Acknowledgement I am not autistic or adhd,
I am not a hypochondric liar.

Calculated Fear by-proxy =]
And you thought I was a fuck-up and a Vet to admit
I have PTSD.

Lingering fears and there is no world without I.
Living-dead-girl-
And walking corpse.
Sail onto me by slipping a name and disrespecting
The Arabian Knight
Asherah.

Name 3 Songs and in your virtue
The 3 Kings of Fakery,
Still don’t understand why there is no Love
In my Corporate Game of Recruitment.

Make yourself of Use,
Ya gawdamn Welfare-Child.
I gave you all the tools,
And watched as you plundered in slushpile.

Child Support never ends,
And you chose no rubber,
But still claim Virgin.
No wonder.

Ya muckbaby mutants,
Like that gorey shit.
A childhood of advocation-of-violence
And I am the gentleheart to leave your fucking demon babies.

To remind them.
You too – can get saved.
Born of the caul and even the holy water babies fall.
Thoust has sinned as parent.
Now your soul is mine, bitch.

Snap-snap.
Crumble to crust.
Turn to dust.
As Above, So Below.

You don’t know Coventry.
You learned Cromwell and bad-black-magic.
The White Witch is Black.
The Grey Family.

Table for One, please.