My anger is the exit wound
In the backseat of an old car
With more than the usual amount of blood
Slowly dripping down the glass
I am screaming and begging
For them not to kill me
But my winking eyes
Betray my desire for a shattered mind
I am laughing just laughing
But no sound except
Broken teeth and
Happy gurgling gummy blood
My hands are woozy
But they are playing
With the slipperiness
Like finger-painting
The real Andrew
Is sitting with his hands
Folded across his lap
Being told to smile
In a room full of fools
By the kingliest fuck of them all
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