Punchline

It’s all a fucking joke
Not a funny one either

A hipster’s blank hoorah, that his balls and
Oh-so sophisticated culture are entitled to

A black and white mural of Krusty the Klown
Puffing a never-ending cigar that blows fumes over children

These words are a fucking joke, a pretense,
Poets write not about who they are but who they want to be
Take a shot at that Bukowski!

And our lives are a fucking joke
Our porcelain toilets
Our hideous ultrasounds
Our fear of naked bodies, hanging and non-hanging genitals all over
We are the never ending punchlines

With inflated egos of Gods
Sheltered in bodies, fat, slouching,
Weaker than that of an ant

Reflections do not show our natural selves
Neither do photos
Only snippets of our sheltered well-behaved virgin mannequins

And am I supposed to enjoy this wonder of life?
The indelicate, timed, limited, moments that our pathetic
Cancer-prone lungs have?

A world where a god sends his creatures to hell
A world where a gimmick of a man dressed in robes saved us all

It’s all bullshit.

Have drinks with me, laugh, let’s piss on our lives
Spit on our graves
Because it’s all a fucking joke
And we are the never-ending punchlines

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