editors

upon the listening to the classical tastes
of Bach from my playlist,
I am left here, sitting on a mess of paper,
sitting upon the Gods’ foreboding,
watching these fake editors and half-wit
bastards and tit-suckers and lint-
sniffers bath on the success of the the
true, the true, the true, the true,
and all they will do is continue to think that they
know everything that there is to be known of the unknown
and what can they really know,
hm?

exactly horse-shit, is what they
know.

it’s 3 minutes after 3AM and
the Ave Maria continues to bath on my
flesh and it’s a wondrous piece to be
placed on my flesh
and, and, and
the whores that call themselves
editors
will never truly taste
genius
for they alone will never produce
any for themselves,
only judge, judge, judge
those who
truly sit in those
four-walled rooms
licking their flesh
eating the roaches off the walls
licking at their bloody gums
and jerking it to the best
internet Porn that there is to
be found.

and as anything else
this too
as shall the fall of their work
shall be overlooked
as a peasant’s
work.