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I protected you for three years from whoring I was tying my rope as a bow the bows were reminiscent of your childhood.. I did not want to distort you I said "don't do this, don't do that" cause you were perfect you were the perfect form smell taste innnocence in the perfect body Your damage would be like raping a child insulting God vomiting on Van Gogh's paintings forgetting of Bukowski's creations killing art killing admiration for art in me But you wanted to feel it black flake on your soul which could put its hands on your ass and heart and a burst of pain in your throat a different pace freedom from me Ali Agca's bullet during my worship anti-art in your lungs and he shot blood hissed like an empty ass the crowd panicked but they do not pay me so much that I would still drive a papamobile