There's a hole in the young man's tiny boat
but he's backed by a thousand fleets.
He complains that his knees are wet
as the universe falls at his feet.
Right next to a skinny girl
who's mending a sweater with glue.
He pukes at her toes from the massive amounts of food.
He soils himself with what she used to build a home.
He jerks himself off with the idea that she's alone.
His veins are overfilled but he'll never overdose.
He's the mosquito that never explodes.
Pencil shavings laid out in pieces of his tongue.
he thinks he's the second coming of Christ,
more like Vanilla Ice gone grunge.
His nuclear reactor mouth keeps him glowing in the dark,
he files his arrows his wider,
but he always misses his mark.
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