Fucked Up Fiction

written by Work Martyr

We’re just a bunch of monkeys 
Chilling with a concrete sex appeal
Leaning on a trunk, and hanging on the steel
Hooligans hold the minds key 
Isn’t that what all that fucked up fiction says?
Isn’t that why you took this animal into your bed?
Was it something else entirely?
A practical reason?
Lonely slept, attic kept 
We were in our 100th season?

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