I didn't exist in the 90s.
That's right, i just turned eleven.
Just his little slice of *******.

I also have a disco ball.

It lies to me and i'm afraid that one day,

Apprentice will overpower master.

I'll die peacefully in my sleep.



It tells me i am lame

And that it will **** me with a mustard packet.

Yellow

Yellow

Yellow



All the sunshine is gone.

There is only mustard.

And everything i eat tastes like malice.



One day, i will conquer it.

I expect it to bleed.

Shattered glass,

Sparkling in the dark.

You shall glow no more, silly inanimate object.



Revenge is comfort.

Soft, lovely comfort.

Fuzzy blankets and lentil soup.

Now i can sleep.

He calls it "spending quality time together."

I call it getting laid.

Focus on my voice, darling.
Can you hear me?
Do you know what i think?
                             what i feel?
                             what i do?

I could lie to you, my dear.
I could feed you ******* and tell you it's chocolate.
Would you taste it?
Would you overlook your senses for my trust?
Sweetheart, i don't trust myself.
Why should you?

Focus on my eyes, darling.
Can you see them?
Can you see into my soul?
Locate and analyze myself?

Don't be ridiculous, child.
I don't have a soul.
They're eyes, dear.
Not portals into my secretive thoughts and feelings.

I must be allergic to awesome, because you're making my throat close up.

Seriously. I can't breathe.
So go find me a doctor and *******.

Today i pulled a Dr. Manhattan.
I went to Mars.
Here, i can build my own little sandcastle.
I am ok here;
i am ok with myself;
i am ok without you
                                        or you
                                                     or you.