Grow Up to Be Me

I'm jiving on caffeine from a coffee cup that's been too much. And feeding it to a child a third my size to see how it'll take. She smiles as mocha leaves a sticky trail down her flawless infant skin. Jiving with me to the same rush obtained via java intake. This is the beginning of her wayward life. The times of strife and conflict that force an intake of sugar-processed junk that make us feel better when we're down in the dumps, or whatever else people use to describe this state. I never remain, never procreate. What's the point of breeding in a world ruled by hate? Cause sooner or later everyone succumbs to the leisurely life served in BIG BROWN BAGs filled with masks of all sorts in wash, oil, and cream forms topped with accessories fashioned from an animal's skin. This is the way we get by, the world we live in. Where we'd rather be bones than pigs on display. But that's all we really are: pigs in every way.