WHAT.

I wish I could confuse you like you confuse me
Every thing I said, I've said it thrice over.
Hatred is my modus operandum, but without it
Fuck, man, I don't even know.

This is almost incomprehensible, irresponsible.
I wish I could tear you a new judgment, but excluding that, I'll accept complacency.

Butterflies wish for razorblades,
As they sing through the air.
A common denominator,
One less of a fear.

Nintendo STD!

"I wanna bite my lip hard enough that I remember what it was like when you did it."
- me

Fuck!
Every little pretentious fucking word I write is like this stupid fucking lie I'm saying to try to express myself, but all I accomplish with each minimalistic epiphany is a struggle of fresh air in a sea of resounding fucking loathing and self-doubt. I'd like to think that something in here resembles a meaningful bit of art or philosophical thought and intrigue, but the truth is, it's all just shit. I don't believe a word I said here, everything is just reflex and gut reaction, I don't think shit through, it's not a fucking, ah, God damn it.

This is all worth a rat's ass.

A bad ass rat's ass.
That could fuck your mother.
With a penis in the shape of a log with a beaver family living in it.