create shittily and shit creatively.
vapid pustules don't get a free parking pass just because they're pretty. they've gotta earn that, everybody has to earn that. no one has a right to anything and no one has a wrong to anything. write right and wrong, a veritable volatile pair of catastrophes. that skin sack of human waste crossing the street when the light goes green? that's just someone searching for death, disappointed that they don't have it yet. "why not me? why not now?" because they're looking for it. death answers to no one and pays unexpected visits to many, like that one asshole friend everybody has who says they'll stay for one night and ends up staying for the whole week. clogging up your toilet, eating all your food, taking up all your space. yet still you love them. that's what death is. just everybody's asshole friend. except it doesn't stay for a week, it stays for eternity. fuckthisshit. seems a lot like sticking a fork in an electrical outlet just to see what'll happen: stupid. it all appears so wonderful, and then later all the flaws show: every error, every misplaced stitch, every tear. putting it together could be compared to pulling the stitches out of an unhealed laceration, pulling them out too soon, peeling the skin apart just to see what it looks like inside. painful. but pain is life and life is pain, so at the same time, it's a lot like creating life. once it's out of my hands, it's not mine anymore. and all the poor, sniveling, bleeding hearts are crying for nothing. red white and blue blood cells mixed with salt water and untold amounts of naivete, that's all they really are. but they smashed the mirrors on the walls before they had the chance to see themselves. there will be no pity. there will be no remorse. there will be no love. there will be no anything. and that's just the way it will be.
- F.T.WillZ ( 2013 i think ,, could've been frank ieros blog )
YOU ARE READING
F.T.Willz poems (prolly frank iero no one knows)
Poetryi've scoured the internet for these lol
