Monday, May 18, 2009

Filthy Place Recipe

Filthy Place Recipe
Patrick Yau

A scourged place filled with plague and filth,
where the twisted souls reside.
Dark nights with cold breeze,
whence the evil reign.

Flooded toilet oozing out last night's old stools,
Flushed out into the rusty ceiling,
which came back down to make me an ugly molten face.
Since that night,
with this masterpiece caused by my ominous fate,
my soul have been forfeited,
prophesied that the horror for me will never end.

We shall serve you dinner,
on this sticky floor and counter-tops,
My recipe was inspired from the webbed ceiling,
which crucified million flies,
and dirt lumped around the filthy corners.
This gross and cheesy meatloaf dinner -
covered in mold,
with lengthy body hairs from nowhere.
And now we have served this contaminated shit,
to show you our well-practiced cruelty.
We tied you on a four-poster bed,
and reeducate you until you swallow this sugar-loaded shit.

May the cradle say,
Moving out from here is a tested and proven formula for release.

In this semi-anarchic place,
investments are stolen step by step and day by day,
to force out the legitimate minds.
Welcome back to the medieval era,
where you prefer not to exist.
How can you be so kind to a doomed derelict,
or give money to a vampiric drug addict?
Or living with the downstairs hooded eyed thief.
Everything of yours has nowhere to hide.

Drug addicts with squirted eyes
who smirked at your future total LOST.
They dance with their anemic limbs,
yet can fuck up your autoglass hymen.
Broken glass has turned into sharp pins,
then you property was raped as easy as pushing money from an automatic teller machine.
In the background noise of vociferous sirens,
they have plotted halfway to their carnival,
while singing their narcotic cannabis HYMN.

In this filthy vandalized descending elevator,
some men keep their most offensive odors,
and some women wear their most offensive perfume,
to broadcast their prominent auras and territories,
and fouling fallen sorcerers the peace of mind.
Don't you dared to play Chopin here,
which is going to be overwhelmed anyways?
Why is this place always filled with smell and lousy music,
and is that the only way to entertain our lonely twisted souls?

Another mind-breaking orgasmic siren,
announced another family's adversary.
That has blown my mind,
though I was ear-plugged and confused,
I fantasized that sound was from the upstairs brainsick orgies.

What an offending place to live,
Nocturnal cats were surprised to be glued on this sticky floor with homeless stinky grease,
and trapped,
where the unkind minions cut their flesh piece by piece,
stabbed the hearts that no one cares,
With more predators than preys,
the smell of notoriety will surely prevail.
May the cradle say,
Moving out from here is a tested and proven formula for release.

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