Opera Poet God Bitch

Ohh Ariiaaaaaaaaaa. Diphthong graces gathered around golden tresses

Trailing red satin dresses all the way back from where you own.

Ohhhhhhhhh! It’s pleasing that your still breathing puppets Ohhhhhh! Isn’t it nice?

I haven’t got that doll. I haven’t got that doll. Please let me take it home!

I haven’t got any friends. I drove them all around the bend. Now I sing my opera to keep me clean.

of the flies and the rats that coincide, whenever I go outside. They coincide with  my company and do it ever so gracefully. They pray to me Their Opera Poet God Bitch.

And I bestow on them harmony not found in nature. cause I am their nature. I am their control.

Opera Poet God Bitch come to me every night every night

With your timing, with your smile and what have you, I want mine.


Do you hear my song. Fuck you I won’t Do what you tell me? Well, the pronunciation is correct.

Diphthong graces around your golden tresses and red satin dresses. I am all done with messes. I want my  order. Order in my court. Let’s begin again.

Oooh! Is that Ice cream? Do you want one? Do you? Would it make you complete? (Do you want to compete?)

Now I want to go home? Back to the place with the dome. St Pauls Cathedral. Home. Home. Home. Then to La Scala where someone will put guitar to my solo. Ohhhhhhhhhh!

Make it gritty, make it mean. Like a washing machine.

I am clean, green, mean, Like Dyson if they made Washing machines instead of Fans. Who needs those? When You have got my clothes.

Diphthong graces and red satin dresses all surrounded by golden tresses of the finest hair. Mine forever to keep while I weep in sorrow for what might have been.




Ariaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! (a wine glass shatters)


Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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