Club 27 Has Reached Capacity - F. T. Willz

.my love and my hate for you are infinite.

.my love and my hate for you are infinite.

it's not even funny how often i have to keep myself from diving at your throat. venom-filled teeth, straight for the jugular.

misguided, misdirected rage and scathing irritation, boiling up while vultures circle overhead, occasionally dropping in to pick up bones.

("the vultures ate my baby today.")

whose bones, i wonder. or is it more of a what, an it, a thing, a sigh a frown a tear a sob a scream a whine a a a
a a a
a b c the end yet?
do you?

useless outlets for pitiful talents, it all gets torn to bits, anyway. you give yourself to people and they take and they take and they take and you'll never get it back, so don't give it away.

the problem here is that no one really trusts anyone else. but maybe it's better to trust no one. prepare for the worst. make sure to have a survival kit ready for this black fucking hole in my black fucking soul, assuming they even make them anymore. hunker down and wait it out, and hope that i don't set it upon everything that ever existed.

i'm sorry my insides are just as sooty and repulsive as an uncleaned chimney, really, i am.

or maybe i'm not. it's not like i've ever really tried to scrub everything out, anyway, because it's all part of who I am.

(professional opinion says that's about as unhealthy as living off fast food and cocaine. fuck professional, let's fight it out, motherfucker, are you ready for a fucking fight, motherfucker.)

i don't give a fuck about how that makes you feel. maybe that's just the bastard in me.

desperation overwhelming hopeless drowning darkness drifting nighttime nightmares not even close to sleeping i'm obsessed with not obsessing perfect storms and endless screaming open your eyes just open your fucking eyes, fucker.

i hate pretty much everything i do, and i learned it from you (only you no one else just you do you see the joke now do you do you).

i guess i really am your bastard.

you fucking sucker.