In My Mirror

Scream fucking scream at you life sucker,
your head too high,
protected by pricy catalog
no-collar shirts, baggy khakis.
Pretty, stupid girls follow
your stench. Your big head
fed by loving daddy; caressed,
perfumed by mother. She paints
her face every Sunday,
religiously, to flirt with the ushers.
Whore. They all fuck her
hard in ther Sunday school rooms
underneath the church.
God, love, brotherhood.
Ahhh, how sweet doin' it
under God's big eye.
Which one do you
call dad? Everyone
else thinks you're
perfect, pure-bred.
But I know,
I know how royally
fucked up you are.
Keep pretending to
have it all together--in your
little pansy planner.
Your act gets more
amusing every goddamn second
I have to watch
your acrobatics.
Go on, start your
pathetic day; let that
excremnt flow through
your polished teeth
and out plastic lips.
Go, be useless.

Jarrod Beck