it's an odd feeling knowing that I will one day indeed finally end my life.

It's nice knowing that there is some finality, so I have no need to worry.
I just wanna say a few more things
before I go.

Probably the same things a 100 more times then I should be content

living in a home with 6 people like
  some monkey;
no privacy to ******* of
   or
to take a **** without smelling someone's own recent
evacuation.

   I want to fly out the window
and into a  coma.
I want to stick needles up my *******
like Albert Fish and
eat succulent butts.

I was born in 94, the year all my idols died.

I 'm confined to a room and am tired of seeing people. I 'm tired of the noses and faces and furrowed brows and chewed off toenails
and funky
        hair dos.

I wanna be a runaway with no grave marker; still born and as elusive as peace

Why do I continue to keep in touch with this person?
Why do I fail to remember all the misery and dysfunction
and anxiety induced in being confined to a plainly doomed situation?

Why do I need to be friends with this person? why can't I just
let the hate fester like most?
I am too empathic and compassionate
and genuinely want the best for this person even though they scammed
my credit card less than 2 weeks ago


I should be caving in their car window
and throwing a molotov cocktail through their house,
or leaving a
       note;

why do I go back?
why do I feel like I can get the time back that was lost

I see them moving around in there
it's an old dilapidated cabin on the corner of the street,
and the town ****-heads
and transients like to go in there and squat and put up blankets
on the windows
to indicate their presence there so they can shoot dope and **** in peace.

There's a dead dog tied to a leash which is in the final stages of decay;
and a shirtless man named Mark works on his wheeless truck set up on cement blocks and has a headless manequen propped on the roof

      One night I throw a heaping pile of dog **** through the window and hear someone yell back
"I'LL **** YOUUU"

When I awake the next morning all the are cars gone.
They probably left on account of it being 12 degrees and not having
any electricity.  Someone forgot to pay the bill

Whatever it takes to be good, I wanna be less.

Good isn't living up to their ideals, it is living up to your own
Be great

I remember Rust
Putting his **** up my **** with the thorns
I said no
But his moldy breath evaporated in my headache and the hot **** was good then, like chock late milk.
But I wanted another straw so I opened my curtains and went fishing and saw you there.. You were performing surgery on a baby and put a donut in its belly, but
I still went to the sock hop the next day with you, cause I love you
Maybe

Book book book 3 yelled
Clowns and a pipe with two
Stems

Hurted by forget repossessed paper clips in may lark dig

Who in the same by real have a shout sure of go

When you start you
Start to fly