I’m breaking down like a nuclear fuel rod.
Uranium-232 is my half-life god.

Tearing at the seems, and chipping at the paint, baby
My reality grip has got me feeling faint.

I think, somehow, I got
Somebody else’s
wonderful life.

I think this time, I’m lost
Nobody knows and
I’m wondering why

I’m trippin’, I’m trapped,
I’ve fucked up the slipstream

Always biting my tongue,
and I’ve never seen your g-string.

Yah, bass baby, just maybe,
Can you take me lower?

Go down, hit the floor,

Posted Saturday, February 5th, 2011 under Poetry, WIP.

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