NaPoWriMo Day 21: Get Off My Yayo, darling.

Blackened seas, front porch blues, dead cradle of faith,
I am the Novocaine that traps the human in the prison of his own ego

These mortals have played victim from my intoxication for too long,
Over the past millenniums and time continuums I have possessed a kind of paradise for man, 
A paradise, so, psychedelic.

I allow no rescue,
My hand upon your chin.

No rescue,
As I dab this yayo along your lips.

Yet, no rescue
Remember your father said i was just a myth?
I give a faint touch that can graze your skin,
but I will clot your blood and fuck you up real good.

Render my resistance, useless. . .

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