Leviathan

Step aside son, and let the doctor in.

This precariously wounded fellow is in need of some doctoring.

Practicioning proctologist proctoring,

I'm a curious mix of Hunter S. Thompson and Frank Sinatra

if he had had a doctorate;

egads, he's off his rocker and off his meds,

nose bopping these teeny bopper kids.

I step hard on these roaches,

ashes and insects on the bottom of my kicks.

Talking like a mobster when I'm copping fitteds.

If you try to knock me,

you'd better nail shut that coffin lid.

I'm an irritating inhalant,

a whiff of me and you'll be having coughing fits.

And you'll need a colonoscopy if you decide to cop this shit.

Smack fiends improvising a cooker

with grandma's porcelain coffee dish

Going door to door, hunting for honest work,

people wondering why somebody hasn't shot this kid.

Then again, maybe what keeps him safe

is that silver tongue and how raw he spits.

Shouting something unintelligible through a zombie's lips.

Fouler than the sewage plant in which he lives.

Blood stains and bits of skulls on his shirt,

Dear Lord, he might make God be sick.

 

Sipping on the synonyms,

while idiots are sniffing up some cinnamon.

Man of God sharpening a straight razor,

and preparing to sin again.

Cyclothymic tendencies,

he asks you to tell them to go away, then send them in.

In his mind he has a good idea of what he's going to do,

but his execution is lacking

It's not set in stone or written in blood with a fountain pen.

When at his chamber door comes the gentlest of rappings.

Is it his enemies that beseech his death.

or his friends with some juice and gin.

Abusiveness brought forth some loosened lips.

Swashbuckling aryan with disdain for a swastika, boosting ships.

The Lawman's eager eagle eyes spot his prey,

you can play dead but there's no fooling him.

Our anti-hero believes himself but a humble mouse,

but if it would save the world,

he'd step forth to be bound up on a crucifix.