I’m a young Frank Sinatra-
I’m feeling all kinds of jaded,
I should probably call out of work because I just masturbated.
I’m audited casualty,
Made from contradicted personalities,
And often made from panic,
In a small minded manic.
Got me strung out on a cord like phone sex operator,
And I’m exasperated enough to feeling all conflicted,
Like the way when kids smoke once and say they are addicted.
I become the halls behind your teeth,
Soothing down your throat-
Like the tongue seeped in your mouth when you whisper “Daddy choke.”
I’m a SNL sketch,
Getting no pay, not even under the desk.
I trip over my thoughts and deeply minded remarks,
But that's what happens when you’re always alone in the dark.
So I’m a dog with no bark,
And I got no spark,
My stars got no light nor a charge.
It’s so bizarre-
In the context that I’m spitting,
I got no resolve,
I’m just saying stupid shit just in and out my flaws.
Just panicked,
I’m missed out and over the rounds,
As I spin out and miss it-
The crowd’s in awe.
This poem’s been shitted with no applause,
But watch how I evolve-
And see how you deny it,
And claim I’m just a player, looking for player 2.
I’m just a Mario-
Finding my Peach,
Immaculate peace-
My thoughts are a disease,
Turning my wants into needs
The same way you beg, while grounded on your knees.
About the Creator
Jay Evans
Just a guy who's 22 and bored, looking for new meanings to life and going about it one sock at a time... even if the sock has a hole in it
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