Cynthia, you should really try being yourself if you intend to succeed
This projection of being an impeccable tease is terrible, please
The endless, senseless deceit tends to be cheap, a weapon you wield
And a futile one at that; you may as well swing a tire wrench at the breeze
Men think you a tired wench & a skeez… for what, your archetypical traits?
I’m gonna have to ask you to abandon the glittering carriage of narcissism with haste
Selflessness… let it nestle into the comfortable bedchamber of your own psyche
The courtyard where poltergeists leave dirty messages on walls (they cosign me)
I’ll tell you, miss, I don’t take my job lightly (you’re simply not wife material)
I’d rather see you cured than resembling Antigone with garlic breath
You spoke of the Santa Barbara Mardi Gras (their foie gras’ the best)
About how you met a man in a bowler hat the color of Jupiter
Decided to go exploring his prenuptial universe
He approached it devil dog style, even supplanted the rough kiss of Lucifer
His conscience even said “Why the fuck are you using her?”
But does she want to be used? Should she become a nun, get roped to a convent?
She’s a Humphrey Bogart damsel with a serious shortage of emotional content
She’s the antonym of a feminine mogul – a fake cologne of poetry
Chromosomally sewn with dopamine and age-old codeine rosaries
Holding beads, cloves and sieves – idyllic masks crafted from foul operas
Her head’s pounding with headache ’cause she detached her crown chakra
Disingenuous twerkaholic – it’s harsh, but get a load of this
Mascara can run down your face but it can’t escape the zen of hopelessness
Reveal yourself under the light… along with the myriad of Adderall
I just think you could do so much more with the dark materials available…
Dying to hog the system, grab more attention than scalding Nazi images
Hiding within logarithms and paparazzi Pinterests
I’m sitting across from you, admiring your beautiful facial patterns
The tears down your cheeks only serve to prove that I’m making passage
so you’ll no longer peruse through the Moulin Rouge while you’re baked off acid
(every part of your collective unconscious is based on classics)
These straightforward tactics won’t work on you unless you’re committed
Self-actualize what makes the human retina vivid…
Remove the false persona from your guise – resume acceptable vision
Become a prude and sensual mistress
Erik Moshe is an aspiring lyricist from Hollywood, Florida. His book shelf may get dusty at times, but he finds it okay, since the universe is dusty and it can be quite eventful. He recently finished a poetry collection about robotics and the future. Find him at TheCentersphere.yolasite.com where he weaves words in unconventional, bizarre fashion.
