Man of Leisure, Man of Peace
End it, go ahead!
Kick me out, you grab-ass landlord.
You are no lizard king.
You are a reptile of the most common fare.
The Buddha hides knives behind his serene smile
and all his followers are just greasy-haired whores
who look good in orange.
I am tired of your clanging finger cymbals at 4 am.
I am tired of your deaf and dumb psychedelia.
I am tired of your Mayan roulette.
I am tired of your cat-hair covered boxers
hanging around my floor like passed out partygoers
but the only one attending was you
and maybe a couple hits of blotter acid.
I am checking out of this haunted hotel
I am a lady of taste
and your lukewarm pasta dinners are squirming in my gut.
I got burned out like your opaque chemicals
and there is no safe place to scream.
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