Take care to burn the orphanage.
But duct tape kitchen knives to their tiny hands first.
Nothing says I love you like armed, burning, unloved children.
I'm just the manic downside
to an already lowest imaginary denominator.
If you take into account, all the mayhem and dramaics
Its really just a cry for help
in a very abstract, informalist kind of way.
There don't even have to be words any more.
Just a red spatter against the wall
and the slow, pooling drip from the ceiling.