you cross your legs to hold your breath,
trying to protect when there's really nothing there,
but the bitter smells of drumsticks rotting
and the faint repetition of the last one left.
another one lost in the groupy magic
i see you there passed out on that stool
nothing holding you but the straw hanging
ever so comically from under your breast.
do i try to move you? help you?
nope.
why?
cuz' passed out groupies are the best.
the poet that didn't know it spoke in rhyme to the beat
pondering this theory while lighting cigarettes with his feet
i watch every drawing moment
noticing the straw bending from the heaviness of her breaths
secretly hoping it will break from its distress
the heavy weight upon it
the anticipation weakening knees
watching with eyes shut to wait for these things
to final the vision already crept in my head
the one that caught me chuckling
one eye opens.....
almost gave it away.
the wait as i watch her is killin my brain!!
will she ever fall off?
am i going insane?
watching my silence an oath to myself
just for this moment, of anothers humble
the wake up call to settle it
mind drifting on the illusion of it
the words to put to it...
and whack, the ball has dropped
the straw has broke,
her face has smacked
bitten tongues break free of their ivory bars
as the choking begins they all try to contain
except me.
i laugh and laugh tears down my face
racing to be the first in the race to my chin
the place right below my enormous grin
stomach cramping the laughter rolls
i can't stop,
because i'm so sick of those ho's...
am i going to hell for this?
who knows...but i'll be laughing the whole way there
middle fingers extended.
die groupies
die.
but please don't stop buying our albums...
and our tour starts next week...
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