The last rant.

I could keep on talking, but my words will stop making sense,
Like the end drags of a smoke stick, bitter, especially the cheap cigarettes.

Some sophisticated asshole, will tell me he has a vaporizer,
Well, you’re welcome to your modernity, and oncologists can keep their signboards.

If cancer kills, you get paid, so stop making a fuss.
If contraceptives had done their work, I wouldn’t be plaguing the earth.

Jesus, Allah, or one of my thousand Indian gods,
Morph into reality, will you?
It gets tiring when everything is imaginary,
Except for the moon landing, lets hope that one is true.

Restore faith, in rosary beads and bowties, men don’t look sexy in underwear,
I’m lying, Warwick rowers,
Fucking women objectification right in the face.

For every wrong slap, there are two right ones,
Wordpress, are you going to block me
If I speak my mind like its on diarrhea?

Its funny when your words rhyme in your head, so you never finish a story,
Because the only damn thing that rhymes with thread,
Is that the protagonist is dead.

Oh well, that’s a flash fiction, somewhat like my life.
Or like Miley Cyrus’ clothes, about whichever you have better insight.

Delusional, illusions, meanness and deceit, drove me to madness, not that crappy song I have on repeat.

If Justin beiber can have poetic license, then hell with it, so can I.
Mickey mouse was a pervert,
I can say that, because its in the middle of a rhyme.

Do you find that offensive, then why didn’t you
When snoop dog asked with flourish, to shake what your mamma gave you?

I apparently have booming stats on my blog, thanks for the update, WordPress, how did you know, I have no one else to give me comfort and remind me of my self worth?

I guess that’s news, just like the bombings in Paris,
One gruesome, one pitiful, both done by people mentally retarded.

I’m not making fun of disables, hold in your rage-filled comments,
I’m just saying my mind functions are like yours,
What’s your guarantee that you’re sane?

Have me tested? No, no way, so what if I’m a girl?
Are women still meant to be seen,
And definitely not to be heard?

Hey, I’ve complained sometimes, about the high pitch noises we make, but we are required to make sufficient noises, or he is going to think my orgasm was fake.

Men, and their fragile sentiments, be like a woman, just like me
For every creep who stares at me like food,
I bully one on the internet.

You too, go and fuck a guy, and write on his back, ‘no homo’
With men atleast you know you’re good, when he spills all over your hammock.

That’s all for this midnight rant, there is only so much you can say,
That’s pg 13 (not really) but my eyes are beginning to ache.

I’m tired of crying myself to sleep, I’ve done that for five six years,
I’m going to try screaming into my pillow,
Let’s see how that one works.

That’s all folks, go ahead, disappear,
My monologue has come to an end,
This is what the Victorians would have seen,
If Shakespeare wrote bad theatre.

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