"Down with me, but who cares?"
I hate to think what I would be like as a lover.
Would I be adequate, satisfactory, great, MIND BLOWING?
Often I wonder if I'll ever even find a reason to preoccupy myself with the thought.
Why plan ahead to worry, when I'm so far behind right now.
So chronically unfuckable, so incureably alone.
Think I'll ever get passed that?
I'm not sure.
Obviously, or I wouldn't have asked.
Feh... who gives a good god damn?
About what time should I let myself go?
I'm not sure if it ever mattered.
I'll just rip it through my head.
Like a lead delivered on supersonic wings.
Splatter paint the lovlies with what I used to be.
Fucking their lives with my bloody mess.
Wonder what it tastes like.
Any better than your taint?
I should wash it down with hot sauce and tar next time.
Jesus christ have you ever heard of soap?
Or maybe I'm just turning into an embittered dick in my old sexless age.
Her stank is still all over me.
It permiates my body.
It wafts from every pore.
No matter how many showers I take.
No matter how hard I scrub.
They just don't make water hot enough.
And steel wool isn't advised for application to bare skin.
Instead I'm left with wildflower sprays, and faggotry powders.
It's the only thing that will cover me.
The only thing that erases your whoreish sniffable waste.
God I hate you.
I'd fuck your mouth with bullets if I could get away with it.
Actually I could... unsolved mysteries gallore.
I just wonder if you're even on my radar enough for me to even bother.
If you blip long enough for me to even dispose of the body.
Of the body, with the body, on the body.
God I love hating you.
It's an all day affair.
And an all night heroine sack injection.
Soft and squishy.
Just like my exploded retinas on the wall.
Kinda like a one horse melody, an ode to Marlon Brando.
I was above it... I was above this, till you wormed your way into my head.
Like an infected pimple on my ass that just refuses to heal.
You, the first and the last.
The remainder of my nothing.
The roundoff and runoff of love gone nowhere.
Just like an everyday joyland wonderfuck.
Only without the revelry.
Without the sensation.
Without the worthwile.
Someone take me away from here.
In a fresh, new selfhugging suit.
Or a stylish zipup black bag.
