The Job of Psychos

The police flash the lights,
on my chest, they fight, capacity in flight
enough for Relapse City,
Why are we in Britain?
You have to believe me!
They’re not going to make my life into a movie.
It’s insane dealing with white boy duties.
It’s feeling like a slasher flick,
By that I mean the law as my boy short booties.
It can’t be matched my ass completes.
I see a death in a Cleveland tunnel, [Que commercial?]
They found a floating body in a lake in Boyle Heights!
He screams, Your ass is mine.
The kid is in my mind.
It’s the same but there’s pain in his heart.
The boyfriend spot is empty.
You think the important but there’s nothing there,
The time goes by and I stumble. A crumb though,
Taking the comas and the commas out like a disciple.
In every transition is the go-getter.
In adult time of play I’m the one you go see.
When a bell rings in Britain, I’m the bad person.
Am I the star?
Texts don’t get settled in person.
A “meep meep”, alright there’s voices, in the air and there’s a fight underground,
She’s like a spy her super high thighs, hands like a thief
What’s under the musical surface, those waves of crème de la crème.
Why would you want to do it?
I just heard the train and it could cry all day.
It’s suicidal.
The cop sirens in the yard erased the lies.
vocab short of breath now I’m color blind, survivor,

the only thing haunting my mind are the idols, in the house.