**** it, why not make nothing off limits,
why not break everything with
something soft and velvety
or a sledgehammer made of
cardboard
executing murders at breakneck speeds.

So maybe nobody gives a ****,
and it's whatever, you're whatever
being lonely is whatever, this life
is so ******* whatever,
banal, passe.

Eyed like a tiger and donated blood to
the vampires, and used like a ******
but only ****** like ****** over;
****** like a father.
Lonely and sad and
contemplating if the bar in the closet

can support my weight at the end of a belt.

Contemplating if the liquor at the bar
tastes sweeter than the people.
Or maybe I should just move on.
Maybe I should pack all my bags
and just run 'till Satan can't collect
and no one knows my name,
so I'll make a new one.

I resent everybody here anyways.
Casual spite. I hope you all die,
so you can't see how much I truly
don't give a **** about any of you.

I'm just tired some more maybe.