boyfriend

Boyfriend is the worst word in the English language.

It makes you sick and hardened

to nothing - you'd be better off freebasing.

Boyfriend is the worst word in the English language.

The misnomer sounds just right, soft

sweat, endorphins, adrenalin.

Boyfriend is the worst word in the English language.

The cutesy acronym is even worse.

You haven't learned a thing, schoolboy

skipping classes for drugs and rehab hugs.

Last night, buddy nearly bagged jailbait

but it happens all the time.

Jailbait beats masturbate

boyfriend got in the way.

Another "nearly" day

happens all the time.

You can't be boyfriend, schoolboy.

You can't live up to that.

Girl is a dirty word

makes you unclean, but holy.

Mendelian genetics.

Jailbait's a freebird

but crack hos slip through the cracks.

A ho is not a whore

isn't gaudy, after money

but always high/low

dreaming of blow

on a walk through the woods.

Merit-based euphoria

is as bad as a dirty coke high.

You don't want to live up to this

don't want to live down to that.

"You're an alpha, in your own way," Rich said.

I'd buy that for a dollar - any more

and I'd need to borrow.

Nobody wants your poetry

but there's always a market for memoirs.

For that you must be hardcore - do more.

No doubt, Nic Sheff can rap like Ginsberg

but that's between him and his Void.

Heed E.T. and be good.

Heed Bill and Ted and be excellent to each other.

But don't expect that to end the malaise.

For that you must kick zoloft

and live in the woods for four years, schoolboy

think back to the cubscout gymnasium.

Schoolboy's talking to himself at recess class

inventing scenarios for others to play:

there's no jails for the ones who've found the key.

Lifer/player in the jailhouse playhouse production

is hallucinating harsh satori.

He thinks it's something

balance? Justice? Beauty?

Whatever floats your starship

on your jailhouse tank trip.

I dunno what I'd do to pass the time.

You were bait and switched

now you masturbate, with a forearm stitch

and humouring you makes me feel right and mighty

for four seconds.

You jack off into a tissue, so

you're on par with Phil Leotardo.

Soprano wouldn't know how to say no

to gay sex, after serving twenty-two

cause "what ya gonna do?"

but he didn't serve long enough to know that.

We never serve what we deserve.

There is hope, you hear

on an interstellar broadcast:

in deep Vegan orbit, the old machine

that anonymous transmitter

still sticks to his story

like an A/A old-timer, calm

with the veneer of spirituality

which is better than the real thing.