I tend to stare daggers
|Runes carved into the deteriorating doorway,
Faded little twister in the middle of the hallway,
A mahogany table where nobody asks, “what’s the matter?”
My name happens to be dirt and I tend to stare daggers.
Termites inside it’s six-legged hotel,
Maggots popping out my ears that should explain the smell,
creative ways to coax worms out my navel,
My name happens to be dirt And I’m often called unstable.
They said not to draw the pentagram, but the knife was so tempting,
Put the body in the ground grass starts condemning,
Grab a cadaver and consume Adams apple,
My name happens to be dirt and I can feel my skin crackle.
Less wasteful Using sunburnt skin as pockets
Use hair instead of garrotte wire so I carry it in lockets,
My favourite pastime is pulling out bee’s stingers,
My name happens to be dirt and every magician around me is a dead ringer
Covered in these vestigial clingers on,
Could you explain why the say the horse’s face is long,
Or could you explain to me the phrasing of blind as a bat?
My name happens to be dirt, I’ll tear the flesh off a rat
Ticking and talking to the burning witch
Idiot with aptitude try outrunning the stitch
Breaded indoctrination made for consumer
My name happens to be dirt and I live on a doomed earth
We’re all tumultuous and the turbulence
Brings doubled over corpses and the scents of frankincense
So I’m draped in filth and met with a grin
my name is dirt and I’ love my cushions and pins
did you know that muscle comes in strips?
it makes an interesting noise when it starts to rip
band aids come off with the occasional crunch,
my name is dirt and I decided to skip lunch.