(no subject)

[blackwithbrown]

she asked me if i wanted to be a rock star,
fighting in bars, crashing my car, trying so hard to be anti-avant guard.
or however the fuck you spell that word,
is it so hilariously absurd?
just because i have bad teeth and hair,
a little homosexual flare,
would the public even care?
the best review that i got was
"you're a shitty poet,
a good performer,
which makes you a good, but forgettable artist."
even when im trying my hardest
i still end up on my knees,
sucking cock, trying to please.
when all you wanted was a tease.
to see the fear in my little boy eyes,
but my heads wedged tight in between your thighs,
dreaming of sweet pussy pies.
well, what makes you think that you're the definition of class?
just because you've never had to sell ass?
i don't have the time,
got bucks to pass,
flesh to press,
got a strong firm grip,
gotta look me best, with a smile on my face.
theres no such thing as second place.
im gonna make it to the top,
as long as my knees stay locked and
these blackouts stop
long enough for me to
look you in they eye
shoot the same old lines
"the health is good"
"im doin fine"