Crapture(OR a satirical combination of random poetic Ideas that s**t on you twat asses HO HO)A Poem by E.H. MonroeF**k your s**t, HADOUKEN!Your s**t is sooooo bad.. Audience: HOW BAD IS IT? It’s a vomitous gelatinous mass catastrophe beyond antibiotics It’s bateri-viral, infecting weak dicks like syphilis Forced to roll your own Monroe Clone up a hill and crush your soul, the two bit Sisyphus Its mediocre cheese doodled scribbles on high school note pages You can’t run with sages You just S**t covered monkeys raging with broken pencils locked in cages I wrote The Gospel according to Truth I believe in the Lured! I believe that crawling in the smoke veins of black masses lays evil priests with handfuls of young boy’s asses I believe, ohhhh I beeeelieve We all gon' move to the waves of the silver lake and the nasty f****r that rows us We all gon' groove, raves of the killer who finds religion in our reflection in the toilet and shows us I found the next Ten Commandments, so f**k Moses And Heaven will be awarded not to who finished but whoever got closest And up on high beyond the clouds, clamoring trumpets will play in the soldiers And God will stop dancing the mambo just long enough to hit a blunt (inhale deep…) and ail all that woes us And pass the s**t to his left and the devil overthrows us And I await my chance at the biblical straw to sap the Rapture I’ll be kicked off by a blood pool left to drool over dream genies in teeny tiny bikinis I’ll get suntans from scriptures written by imagination and solar sin And my Golden Pearlescent gates won’t like the blasphemers in Oh you sorry batch of fuckers! Even Pandora proposed to pop the top on the bottle before my brilliance burst out And I rose from flies and roaches, even Satan held my cane while I came in her confused countenance And I play count the suckers with slugs of subliminal sustenance So hang off my balls and drink my leftover genius Talentless twats, I never knew em. I’ve spilled more innocent blood than a first menstruation (-say it with me- OHHHHHHHHH!!) Ritualistic romance, roaming Rome in search of "no place like home." Click heels and find the Monroe the wizard, Slippery like lizards in Vaseline blizzards. My words are just tomes of immovable moving musical movements Forgotten. I get it poppin like electric percussion. Beats so heavy I give titans concussions. You send messages to mars that goes “This dude’s on that dust from Neptune's moons! Shai Halud! Now, I speak in two tongues. One is grounded like paint by numbers,
© 2011 E.H. MonroeAuthor's Note
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Added on May 23, 2011Last Updated on May 23, 2011 AuthorE.H. Monroehate your f*****g guts, NJAboutS**t eating fuckbag of the crapocalypse. Dystopian Bard and general word rapist. like me here, and i'll kiss you on the face.. http://www.facebook.com/pages/EH-Monroe/226600554032025 Its here .. more..Writing
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