• rate me! rate me!
    give me a five!
    as soon as i step into the arenas
    i smell onions and putrid green pies;

    when you give me a one,
    right before you click the left button of your mouse,
    think:

    all you want is an
    egotistical boosting number; if
    people gave you nothing but

    zeros, how much would you
    average before counting
    zeros? as soon as the
    numbers equate your quality
    like a magic number might give you
    magical literature
    prowess, the universe will coil into a spiral
    of black holes, galaxies will
    spin in whirlpools of the void, the
    great gig in the sky becomes the great
    gag in the cosmos;

    now, you want to shoot this poem;
    it's shoving the truth farther up your
    brain, so far it's like you're being
    mummified, emptying your carcass
    of the gushy grey matter into jars of symmetrical
    proportions that now dwell with ideas
    that swirl yet they can't
    escape anymore, their ceramic-cage
    universe.