Ballade No. 2 in D Major, Andante, Op. 10: Johannes Brahms

if you know the name of the tune, whistle it alone in a dark room---tell your bestest friend (inside) that the only one that you now abide by has finally died.

now it wouldn’t be the first time you flew off the coup---that place in your mind where fresh is the taste---that gun in your hand bliss from your blessed creator---you got your options---you pull the trigger or you step off, go back home, and masturbate until dawn---out on the front lawn you pass gas---out the sensible place in the class---raise your hand raise your hand---in this land you know you won’t be called on---you know they won’t understand---you know that what’s done is done---and your found in swimming pool just about to drown---where then, wherein, is there motive for your stupid place?  you got blood on your hands and guilt on your face---drop it and sit down on your a*s---do your best to wait for that train that’s never ever comin’---your ship done sunk and you’re left out of change---singing back to your own brain---convince yourself you’re sane---maybe you are, maybe you’re not---news flash: nobody’s listening anyway---freeze your face & find a new place to vent---it’s clear you’re out and spent---someone is watching, sure, someone is listening---but i wouldn’t be the first to stay around a’ wondering---is there a leaf in the beef tasted super-colon out of recess back into church and the lurch from the mouth of the winged busted pee-body planners---call the pta---they still around?  they pull a lot these days---and the armed and dangerous are the once that play with us---they’re not holdin’ instead their joking with the best of us on our worst days---they buy a bunch of donuts to placate our ways---inside theirs is the simplest way---take what you want and leave the waste---and who but the truest bluest would pump out anything but the newest fluid?  the druid named cupid working with his Dracula troop 10---caging out the French hens using the ball point pens, stimpy and ren, licking the fifth for nothing but the spent spearmint---they tell you to wear a tie before you die---stuff two ludes between your eyes---lean back lean back and then supersize---probably no place between---but he’s no longer got teeth---you tell your faithful priest---you bow down and admit that you no longer believe---YOU BOW DOWN AN BELIEVE THAT YOU TRADED TRUE SUGAR FOR NUTRASWEET---bounce the tied hands behind you and out into the ocean i’m done with you---no need for an alias bud---i got this---plain out a pick axe---trip back and wood stack---there the bombs collide---there the retail provides---there the way is decided before anyone buys it---there is no guilt when the lie is built---a beauty of its own is the one you rid yourself of first---be be be and tell me later---that lame line will be the one remembered but still now the age rage kills out that cardboard tragedy somebody forgot they forgot to tell me---retro retro you find the let down the truest place to go---that slit in your face that crazy lady’s stain---walk down peppermint memory lane---what is there makes you feel just pain---another way to lose this game.    

Author's Note

don't trust anyone but confectionary sugar.