I think a poem...of a variation on Patrick Bateman |
My hair is clean and sharp. It is styled - effort... But to not look like effort. A sheen of subtle arrogance. The shirt is clean, Stark white and crisp, Against a midnight blue Shark skin suit. My tie is pitch black, My tie pin is bright gold, My pocket chief is cold white, And there is a fold of cash in my hand. My dark sunglasses, Cover cocaine strained eyes. My hands, mauve, Dried blood from last night's fun. I walk with an aura, Of status and power. My shoes clip clop, The leather heels finding their mark on the cement. I look for the hour, On my Patek Philippe. An instrument of time, That doesn't do justice to my wealth. I walk into my office, Slump in my chair. I look out of my office window, With an air of superiority and arrogance. I smile a cunning smile, And breath calm and calculated. I'll flex my power, On the corporate world today. I will wage war on the markets, And plunder the treasures. Status and power will grow, And my ego will soar. I will spend the day high, I may speedball and trip. But I can manage it well, With my dark sunglasses and witty quips. And tonight I will transform, I will capture and kill. I will torture and pillage, The bodies and souls of those who I find. I will make them feel worthless, And cut them into little pieces. I will marinade them in soy sauce, And eat them with chopsticks. |