tarintino

blue walls who paints a

room that blue

she ODed in his apartment

mouth fuckin’ foamin’

red shirts, just washed em’ too

What are we going to do with the guy in the

backseat

in the trunk

He can’t live there forever

[mostly because he’s dead]

Scorsese, Tarintino a drop of

                                     blood

suspended

or a fountain splattered against

the back windshield

the distance from the chair to the screen is                                                 

safe

as the distance between me

and the motherfucker

who ball-gagged me

[what a fuckin’ creep]

we’ll storm his shop, mow him down, won’t know what hit ‘im

get medieval on his ass

Like Kingsman \ foot in the chin sliced through the balls

                                                                         suspended

The distance between me and the real world is

safe \ You’ll never guess who 

was playing us

all along the boardwalk he doesn’t expect to die

[come on, it’s so fuckin’ obvious]

                         but they don’t find his body until next spring

suspended

                         in water as it is

but they blew up the chicken man and the racket boys

won’t know what hit ’em

the distance between me and

Atlantic City is not safe

I’ve got a 

little favor to do,

for a man who

won’t meet with me

[don’t you think that’s strange]

come on

everything that dies

doesn’t really

[I don’t really want to know

where they go

after the boardwalk]

(wouldn’t think about it)

wouldn’t think outside the screen where

my emotions are

                                                suspended

and the distance is safe