Noise

flailing under weighted blankets with the world’s sniggering vitriol dampening my resolve which never was up to it anyway like everything else or everyone I’ve known, few as they may be, and diminished by time and the noise of my tentacled senses holding me under, I can’t breathe. 

Release me. 

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You Can’t Hide or Run From IT

You think being
bothered by your “friend”
With their demands
and having to deal
with the complex
(or whatever they are)
emotions of another
human beings trials
and tribulations is a
big deal?

well you’ve got another
thing coming when this
gravy train of uninterrupted
Isolation runs out of tracks

You’ve got another
Thing coming

The grown up world
Will eat you the fuck up

Worse yet; there’s
No way of coming to
Terms with it

Reality is all about
Experience first
And then deal with it

Don’t be yourself.
You’re nervous right
Now, thinking about
It. Anxious and filled
With dread.
Don’t be yourself.

Nobody’s going to
Save you.
Nothing’s going to
Stop the encroaching
Sharp objects of life

You’re thinking death.
It’s so much easier
Than everything else
Just be somebody else

Hope as hard as you
Can that you’re even
Capable of being
Anything other than
What you are
What you Have been…
Try or, Face the possibility
Of… Failing life.
Fail life and life will
Eject you.

Operation Be Somebody Else
Because who you are just
Cannot handle it and will
Never be able to handle it.

Commence…

Do, not, be, your, self.

I’ve got Five Middle Fingers on my single little hand

You know what I don’t have to do?
I don’t have to care.
I can wake up and flash a middle finger at my alarm clock and let the rest of the day be a series of middle finger assaults which’ll invariably all blur into one

That old silver haired crow of a woman that keeps telling me to wear appropriate clothes will be the first to feel the wrath of my middle finger

That pig of a bus driver who looks at me as if we had dirty sex in some dirty alley will be second
Why does he always look like he’s just had clammy sex with a crab smothered in butter?

Beyond that;
faces blur, identities fuse into one another and I fucking swear if my neighbours don’t shut the fuck up I’ll gouge their eyes out with my middle fucking finger goddamn it!

When my aunt (the sprite-narcissist) figured it would be a great idea to take out some dirty laundry during grandma’s funeral I shoved an ugly middle finger right in her face. All my life I’ve been waiting for that moment and I’m rewarded with the rest of the family excommunicating my rogue ass.

Now that I am free I can see clearly now.
This satisfies me.
There will be more attacks and I don’t think I can stop.

Confessions of a Muteful Hater: Not For Under 18z

Some may describe me as quiet and as one who does not stir up manure no matter the situation or circumstance and they wouldn’t be wrong in their observations as I am for the most part a placid little fucker

But there’s a particularly dark corner of my psyche in which hate and anger glows hot with excited indignation at all things alive or inanimate

Don’t tell me it’s my grandmother’s birthday, don’t ask if “I know how to warm” certain food because the microwave is crocked (I wasn’t born yesteryear)

Don’t make assumptions; don’t tell me you’re “sticking to your own truth” (for fucks sake what the hell does that mean??? Are there two thousand truths and you’re the ring leader of this idiocracy?) – Fuck off.

At times I feel guilt about my private little explosions because their content is so vile they would leave many a anger-therapists in a coma of disbelief

(mind you all of this rage is kept inside); I curse and curse and curse and wish the most vile things would befall those around me and politicians most especially (next to pedo’s and rapists, and general thieves)

I Hate with greater passion than I Love. One could say I love not at all. But oh hate; yes, I can taste it on the tip of my tongue.

When I was cheated on; I imagined things which have burnt a picture in my head to this day about my former lover (although I am without resentment towards the cheater now)
It is, admittedly, a good thing that all of this volcanic ire remains within.

I’d be a vile creature (much like those I despise) were it anywhere else.

[All things considered. I’m a full blown Humanist] ( 😀 )

Death Ideation: The Scary Part is Youth

Teeth, face, eyes. What torture.

Draw your sword and bury it in my gut.
I am in a pit not of my own digging; I wish to free myself, not to escape and walk on level ground with the rest of society but rather, to be buried in it.

Tears. Death. Blog. What emptiness.
Unplug me from it all.
I have lived in half, quarter measures,
I wish to switch off completely.
Not fight inevitability.

…Solemnity

I wish i could make you feel better

The Blind Leading The Invisible

Here I am nothing.

Here (s)he is nothing.

Here you are nothing.

(S)he runs away, does a good disappearing act, nobody takes note.

Life’s too normal to be bothered about these little things.

That’s you; she. He.

Doesn’t make a difference the mirror’s foggy and so are my days running, crashing into each other, put your hand up if you’ve ever felt like the world was just one big “meh” (shrug of the shoulders)
haha! Yes yes yes! (Raises hand) that’s SO me!
Omg and today was one of them days because I woke up thirsty and I immediately thought to myself (you’re a chicken shit) and I knew I was telling the truth because it didn’t make me feel bad, that description, that reality.
Yeah. Maybe knowing you’re not alone in that pit of chicken shit will make you feel less like doodoo
I doubt that and I don’t do that (hope you get better) bull because it doesn’t cut through the static of (kill kill kill…) angry face! shouting in the mirror and screaming in the shadow. Phew. …. (Yourself)
and my colleagues look like angry lopsided ass cheeks