Picasso Priss

It doesn’t matter how my words resonate
For jagged on course
Just crumbles
It doesn’t matter how I crease
Like dog eared pages
To build your empire
You’ll only spend it on walking wife-beaters, and PBR

You were meant to be hung on the wall
For when inspected
You realize they’re painted with pricked fingers
Tooth enamel
crow’s nest hair
Brain segments
finger nails
Severed limbs
Forming a third dimension

Mash muscle and fat to a fine paste
In place of pastel
It consists of the families, daughters, sons
That put them in the most prestigious of museums
At the expense of their own life

Some survive, strutting the streets severed
Wishing they hadn’t
While others out witted
Parting the head from torso
Before parting from dignity

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