Let’s get down to what’s really wrong.
I’m talking Marvin Gaye your daddy shoots you dead wrong.
I’m talking out of my ass, but it’s okay because I come bearing two ply toilet paper and a wet vac if shit really goes sideways.
I remember the first time you spilled the beans and how embarrassed you looked when I knelt down to help you gather them up and ultimately set them free.
When I looked into your eyes I could see you’d loved your share of loser poets who believed their outsider status would either see them clear or silence them before they needed to go to Sears and buy a baby crib.
I’ve always believed cults were for people who couldn’t think for themselves and I still believe that even though I’m having a problem even keeping a roof over my head.
Let’s get down to the nitty gritty.
I’m talking the nittiest grittiest grime you could ever hope to find when you’re dating some doofus hipster and they refuse to allow you to run your hands through their third world beard.
I’m clearly talking out of both sides of my mouth because like Hillary Clinton I’m afraid you won’t like the real me so I keep repositioning myself on the issues in the hopes that I’ll build a better mousetrap or at least get out of this campaign with a shred of dignity.
You wanted to know what’s really wrong. Well I’ll tell you it all started when you attempted to shut me down.
If you don’t like the way I criticize and judge my way through life like a martyr hell-bent on either sacrificing themselves or catching a stray bullet while fetching the morning newspaper than its best we go our separate ways before one of us regains consciousness.
I slipped myself a roofie and began to play I spy with my most trusted of invisible selves. I spy with my little eye a world that is nearly ready to implode. I spy with my little eye something red, white and blue that castrated itself a long time ago.