Counter-Cultural Hive

Demonic dolls dripping acid drops into microdots for

Barbaric bogans to create chaotic commotion,

A telekinetic serial killer, a spine-chilling thriller,

My words are like venom to your cerebellum,

Trapped in a system within a cubicle prison,

Self-medicated lethargy, destroying any last

Remnant of motivation and energy.

What's my name?

Whatever I damn well choose it to be?

No appellation proliferation will manifest my destiny.

Imminent death is all about me,

No galaxy can avoid Saturnalia inevitability,

City streets, dark and replete with bloodied sheets, slit-wrists,

And smashed windowpanes, spreading diseased shards throughout this murksome game.

Ragged feet, traversing concrete pathways,

Dark airways, blood spattered on the page,

Urchins, primed to disrupt and derange,

The norms, find us strange, frightening, exciting,

In disgust, we head down to the prophetic underground,

A dungeon of dragons and derelicts, despots and heretics,

Dope, Devilish & Profound.

Here we can create, destroy and create again without homogenization,

In the Underworld, the key is imagination, discipline diametrically opposed to trepidation,

You and your ilk, crying over spilt milk, procrastinate in your own dishevelment,

S**t piled high, heaven sent, you tears will irrigate inevitable firmament.