...what the fuck is your point?
cry a little--smoke a joint...

i gotta take something that hurts,
puke it up, let the chunks create verse

but the chunks dont taste too good,
i would keep them in, if i could.

see, expression is to pour forth freely,
open my arms and my lungs to the ceiling

and pour forth my ugliest dirtiest entrails
and paint beautiful pictures, enrichened with detail
with fingers as brushes, and my eyes as a canvas,
colours so bright, that their resonance blinds us.

just hope that whoever has to clean it up doesn't die trying.