Ah Juliet .. I'm no fucking Romeo. And when it's all said and done I've probably molested all your sacred issues and took a piss in your toilet, and I probably didn't put the seat down either. So why are you still here? Is it pity? Pity for the boy that needs to feel so bad it nearly kills him when it does?Fuck you.
You owe me some blood bitch. And I mean to collect.
I might learn to love you just because I think it is the most cruel emotion that one human can offer another. And I can't think of another way to eviscerate your pity any quicker than that particular sharp scalpel. For when it's all said and done do you offer me anything more than the spittle on my lips when I'm done screaming your name? Am I supposed to leave a tip on your pillow when I'm finished?
Do you sleep with a poison pin with my name on it? Which one of us is worse? Is it me for not having the capability to feel? Or is it you because your fabric of caring is patched and stitched together by rotten threads of justification?
Would you still be here if you knew all I had done? The pain I've caused and the lives I've ruined? Would you forgive me? Offer me absolution so my little patch fits in the space you need to fill? Do you have a home for all your lost boys? Have you tried your skin on lately? It's looking a little frayed around the edges.
So what's going to happen when I muss up your little world? What's going to happen when I don't fit? I don't stay in my room when I'm told. Are you going to gather all your little toys and stomp your tiny foot and demand I leave if I don't play nice?
Princess.. I've got something for your precious little ducky .. right after I wipe this spit off my lips.
P.S. There's a dollar ninety-five on the pillow.
0 comments:
Post a Comment