The Retiring Corpulence of Johnny B.

Avast, ye Fat Man!  How you've raped death!
Flick!  Flick!  You finger-fucker;
You abundance of negligible.  Stare across the horizon of your imminent demise- bask in the shade-

The dirt molds between your toes.

How ankles must buckle under the gravity of your mass.

You flick!  Flick again!
Incessant with your obsession, have you shame inside?

A hollow cunt you are-
Filling it.  Filling with naked promise of another day of
No death.
Your maker lives atop a mountain Rocky-
Taste the cock of your maker!  Guzzle His fluid-life killer!

Drenched in your own perishable skin-sack, upon a weeping heap of collapsing, creaking, beveling earth.
Your steps take an infinity stolen from finite time- your Lorentzian length expanding in proportion.

The residue of your breath insulates a Siberian hut.

Staring at the poltergeist of the Ace of Hearts- yours beats heavily;
Have you guilt?  A life worth the definition? 

Have ware that all ends are nigh- but some not soon enough.
Fare-thee-well, Fat Man!

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