Shit (I ain't)

I ain't shit

And I ain't nothing that deserves shit

All these people holding up their diseases and claiming it makes them what they are

All these people holding up their diseases and claiming it makes them better than human

The truth in those voices are highly debatable, abd higbly subjective in nature

In short, shit

And I ain't shit

No shit, just bile and grossness and an endless desire to go to sleep

But at least it ain't shit

I don't deserve the life I live but it makes me pure, it makes me great and gives me validity in the mahogany desktops where I fuck bitches on

(And when I say bitches I mean my hand while imagining the quality women of Japanese Animation)

God damn, ain't I sad?

That's what I want you to think, at least.

Shit, what do you think, all I know is that my life is tied around a dying subculture and expensive fashion

I don't mind though, that stuffs the shit

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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