Careful, now, laws of me, pinpoint his
anger—they’re also coming for me;
take this to the next level: hideous ex,
wielding power over what I haven’t
reclaimed yet. Don’t be a fool, I’m becoming
me, i’ll get there on time, Indian time,
if, my friend, that’s what makes you agree
take what you can—He’ll be what He is,
a man for every circumstance, licking
his boots: “Fuck that woman,” she’s just
storage space—thought I got it all, but
there’s more of me, finally, to replace
Want everything back—it’s not safe in
her hands; she destroys what she touches,
brings shame and unhappiness to all,
don’t like her fucking haircut, anyhow
rolling, rolling, rolling, raw-hide! keep me safe here, chip on her shoulder; don’t appreciate little reminders that I’m not all there—thought I was doing good, thought I was getting there; but hold fire: we’ll get there to boot—this bitch will mean nothing when I am through
Just some crazy reminder—what, no kids between us; not exactly what i was looking for, from her; wanted acceptance—thought I found it; but you can’t give it away; crazy fucking bitch, I want you to stay away
but she’s a cosmic enforcer, telling me, in some ways, I’m dumping my back, shutting out my full potential—telling me yet: it’s time for yet another change of tack
well you know what I’m thinking on, PM
of Italy; makes me feel adequate; lo—
she’s coming, white skin (no tanning bed, please)
blond hair like Vesuvius, getting back
on my feet. People will talk about my exploits
for centuries on end; saying, well, a man
like him comes around every so often,
just often enough, to put us in our place,
cosmic enforcer right back at you, hey, djinn,
making me anxious, I’m talking to Him
She means, something, damn it, and i don’t
know where it is, how to save it, and how
above all, to integrate it. Derivative nonsense
is it lo, a coincidence; sexual partner, just
now, as, lo, I recover my jizz? Don’t need
a new woman; don’t need a woman at all,
if, as things stand, I’m locked out the house,
unable to live (live free or die) quiet
as a fucking mouse; fucking natural blond
I come from the mountains of Italy,
well so what if you do, I think, in a moment
you’ll be ancient history. Fucking djinns,
if I touch them, they’ll increase their power
here to punish me; walking the rungs
of damnation—saving i don’t believe it,
recover me; fucking low down woman, to
remind me, yet, I’ve been dishonest with
myself; well, if I was, did I have my reasons?
I have them now, crush the stupid bitch
But all of this would show, looking like
the winds of change are here to blow me
all over the place; house of cards simply
erased. Setback, a little, by the djinn,
realizing my mistake—hang out in the den,
making my entrance, please do, come in
except, lady luck, you’re a never do well,
i don’t believe you exist—even in hell
Have a little faith, I tell myself, angry
that I can’t have sex; missed out on something
special that hasn’t happened yet, well,
I know, I can still take it back; be done
with this hatred; she’s holding me back,
don’t need to see her; cut me some slack
but she’s there like hell-fire, i don’t know
if she’s pretty enough, can’t make out
her picture—angry, i think, that she didn’t
gain weight; so who’s the winner here,
clearly that’s what this is about . . . well,
I can’t have my way, all the time, saving
thanks to the djinns, i can’t be what I’m not,
and happiness is for the man that I am,
not the persona that doesn’t give a fuck,
saving that, in this case I don’t, double
crossing nightmare—loaded with conceit,
thinks she’s PJ Harvey, rock star and shit,
tooting, then, my fucking horn, what’s that?
As if no time has passed? Pissed as the storm
well this is a weakness—a vulnerability,
clearly you’ve plenty to assume, how come
for example—well, she lives in your mind,
you let her in, don’t you, trying to unwind?
So she’s here, now, recesses of Him,
I sow my apple seeds, that keeps us fed
while, for starters, i roll up my sleeves,
be kind to myself; and, so, I aim to believe
well it doesn’t matter, this djinn be damned
I’m on the fucking warpath, creative as
shit—I can compete with anybody, and, well,
I think, in secret, that they’re fucking spent