Thoughts of the Debauched Drunkard

I’ve often watched with lustful eye
A midget in her steady stroll,
Each step she took her fat she shook—
Her anus like a battlefield,
Pock-marks plenty her floral wreath—
A crown for my quaint Lolita.

And I’ve sat and starred for hours
At the blurring graffiti walls;
Wondering but what they could mean,
And why they stared back out at me.
Then, resolute, I turn to piss,
Adding my name to match the rest.

I’ve seen the sights of brothels filled
With the whores, both Rich and Red;
And stumbling towards them asked but
That I’d taste each their lemonades,
And have them cast me out again,
A vagabond for vulgar kings.

I’ve noticed then, when hells mouth is
Opened wide so angels enter,
And choosing the choicest captives
Bed them with a vigor unknown
To all that live upon this earth,
To wash their sins away from them.

Then, seeing this, I’ve turned away
My stomach churned to charity
(When chance I find a drinking well
To empty myself inside of
I’ll walk no more and, falling down,
Will find the street a welcome bed.)

That feels warm though I quake inside,
My dreams an equal hellish ride.