i feel confused like a coma patient waking, like a vampire with licked lips and slit wrists, like a werewolf with an insatiable taste for silver, like a mummy that's pissed tripping on it's bandages, like frankensteins monster on a come-down, like godzilla in a one horse town, like the walking dead gorging on the brains of their friends or like jaws if he ate bishop from aliens. so if the sweat in your sheets secretes nausea or if the cum on your sheets secretes sperm, they're both signs of inevitability, a timeline that's clear to see 'cause sundials don't stop ticking.
9 months, give or take a few weeks, newborns lengthen this legacy, tides rose, crops froze but best before end dates filled dinner plates. breast milk is back bitch. and tv's aint raising children, like a swarm migrate to where it's warm, teens still fuck but their murder rate's down.
no cops. little medication, emergency broadcast radio stations. do you need help? if you feel alone. some found god when they ran out of methadone. some ran to the arms of their neighbours, some ran arms in exchange for favours, some ran razors across their veins and some just coped, adapted and overcame.
in the new world good guys don't wear capes and rush out like mixtapes, in the new world bad guys still have sly styles but they don't have nukes, cash and wry smiles. firewood fuels late nights and food brings waistlines back from starvation pain cries. give us drugs, give us hugs, give us strawberries, give us all a beat and we'll dance 'til our sores bleed. we've got stories that don't need cgi, we've got homebrew and we've got vodka, all our black clothes have faded to grey and winter fashions are functional. sitting in the shade in the summertime, watching butterflies with lovers and toes curled. and of cousre there's death but death in life is beat by context... 'cause a near perfect extinction taught us something about victims and viruses and kings with self assumed crowns. that they're easily beat down, by their mother, until the sun burns out.
