Gord

2016-02-02 12:00 am

The mired child, spoiled
Mildly retarded by choice.
Spends his days locked inside.
Wishing wildly of days gone by,
Punching the god of his desire,
Cursing the men of his design.
A life not spent fighting,
as it appears to the self.
Shuffled between arenas,
Destined for the cell.

Gord

2016-02-02 12:00 am

Sun shining, Days simply spend inside,
Producing music, mp3 and wav files,
Meanwhile I see my Aunt smiles,
Her son shining shoes up in a crack house.
I'm pretty sure she's looking for my 26 thou,
So i ask her in the heat of the night.
'Tell me, How does the world look so bright,
through dirty sheets and a black gown?'
She replies down.