I drove in to get drunk, get high, and maybe get laid.
I was never so ugly that I couldn’t get laid,
except for the inside… that got pretty ugly sometimes.
sometimes the pills and the vomit,
drops from the doctor to keep the demons at bay,
the mixed bag of sausages and stale bread,
half liter cans of beer stinking,
the days of our lives rotting and decomposing
on coffee tables that were rented, then stolen,
the hunger that gnaws in a belly stuck full of dope:
there is an ugliness that keeps you wrapped in interest
waiting for the carnival freak to catch on fire
or shave her beard, or get mauled by that god damn bear
that has been dancing all over our walls:
none of that ever happens.
The freaks will always be the freaks
without fire or mauling or loving
and eventually, no matter how ugly, we’ll fuck.
screaming at low volumes
