It’s just an itch beneath the skin

I can’t get it out or seal it in

I can’t dislodge the need to scratch it

screaming from it’s root

it’s an echo inside my head

a need to say what can’t be said

it’s the nerve tattoo,such a bad rash

spiteful and divine



but thats OK

it doesn’t matter anyway

it’s still those with the least to say

that will be heard...



ah,the elloquence of trash

the persuasiveness of cash

rings true like the whispered lies

of half-forgotten lullabyes;

designed to please ,

designed to soothe

designed to shift amillion units or two

designed to mean nothing at all

for anyone



but thats OK

it doesn’t matter anyway

it’s still those with the least to say

that will be heard...



it’s no misunderstanding

it’s all emptiness and words

I’d cut my veins to paint it as

beautifully meaningless-

picturesque and absurd

....it’s a masterpiece I heard