Tuesday, 23 November 2010

Nothing is real.

Nothing is real any more, is it?
The colour of our hair,
the food we're supplied.
The parties and the clubs -
filled with booze and pills and legal highs.
Open up your thighs
and discourage your pride.
You've no need to hide
what lies in your mind.
Sit still do the fools
who seem to forget,
of where we all come;
from that place moist and wet.
That's as real and as pure,
as you'll ever get.

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