If only pen could write in the blood I feel, could penetrate this page like the needle skin. I don’t write to set myself free, I write to have this memory trapped between lines across this page. Immortalise these feelings you have set free, I want it written, branded, embedded in me. I want what I have now forever to be felt, this breakage in darkness to crack through my soul. Through wreckage I stroll, past devastation I’m whole, in the midst of all this hate, one must stand up and give a fuck, cause everyone is too busy not.
This existence is a funny place, where losing your morals is accepted as fate and losing a follower a sentence of shame. Hero’s are those who cheat their way to the top, heroines are picked up on every street corner. Sex is like a handshake, cept no one shakes hands anymore. This world is upside down, sliced to shreds, wrapped around a hookers bed, snorted up a junkies head, and puked out of bile demons festering sledge. We all live here today, this wonderfully fucked paradise of necrosed flesh, where we make our beds and take our meds, where no one gives a fuck thanks to memes, and television is god it seems.