A penny for your dirty thoughts,
dirty little secrets,
dirty little lies.
A pound of cure
for your petty little crimes,
pretty little parties,
potty-mouthed queens,
and covetous minds.
Warm Sands
sweaty groins
waiting for Godot,
with lonely hearts aglow.
The mountains are alive
with sirens screaming.
The heart beat of the desert
slowly dies
in the languid face
of monotony stretched out,
as far as the eye can see,
until it disappears
on a far and desolate horizon.
Same shit,
different day.
Let’s make hay
while the sun doth shine.
What is this?
The votes are in.
You can be
too rich,
too tan
too thin.
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