She was mad about math: this little girl called “worm”

She was mad about math: this little girl called “worm”

As she sat on the park bench
We both watch the undertaker
Stolen along past us
She grunts with anticipation
As I remove my blade
And scrape a few lines
On her mirror
All this talk of death and taxes
Makes Willy hungry for sex
On the park bench
In the grass
It doesn’t matter
As long as I get my fix
Begging me to never stop the music
I would if I could
I would end it all
The music and
Your gutter logic
Throw them all away
Living from ashtray to ashtray
29 words that you used against me
In a court of law
The ache of an agonized god
Relentless is her madness
A dismal thrust
We burned with lust
Spammed from your dirty hard drive
A binary logic
In a multi-casual world
The mission’s dirt
Drags us down
Down into a beleaguered conformity
Spins her webs contrary
Adding to the stash
Inside my brain
A little “me”
I see the world
I make decisions
I direct my actions
Does this make me more than an animal?
That central place inside my head
Where the sensations go
Something wrong with my ordinary view
We eat, shit, and fuck
The colors come
But, I cannot focus
Even though something is passed on
Between us
If only bodily fluids