I couldn't care less.
Yeah, sure, you motherfuckers. It's just that I stole a couple of memories of hers. Nothing personal, you bitches, that's the way I'm having fun.
Love, well, you don't know a fuck about it. Neither do I in fact, but at least i'm not that sure. I'm not that unambigouos and sure about everything I feel. At least I don't claim myself to be the only right person around. You suck, you know. Sorry I spoilt your day, but I've always been longing to do that.
That's a loveletter. Another loveletter she keeps not very well hidden. Some shit about holding and driving and being together and not letting go and all that I-like-it-fucking-you-but-will-never-say-it-outloud staff.
I choke on those. It stinks. Romanticizm may very well go and shove itself up the next week's ass. It's a sick sad world, if you haven't yet noticed.
It hurts to think the girl you'd like to hug&kiss is partly someone else's property. All rights reserved, right? Right? You lucky jerk? It hurts to get put on ice every now and again.
I cut my finger on the icy iron-frozen razor-sharp sleet over the windshield of my car. You like it? D'you like the way I bleed? Or does it tend to make you retch?
You may marvel at the way I treat you all, the whole cunty lot, but you'll never let me closer that within a gunshot range.
Ha-ha, want to read that? Want to see me rip out a small part of your goddamn memory and make it public? If there's a mental shadow fuck, there must be mental shadow whores. How 'bout being the first one?
Do you all around enjoy me being half-laid with the one I don't even know? Coupled up and tied down? Do you really want me tostand all that drunkmind farce?
Go fuck yourself.
Insert, delete, home, end, everyone who wants me instrumental, now you die, everyone who's been so goddamn interested 'till they figured out I don't need a better half of what they offer, manipulatory bitches, decent girls for another shot of whatever they got, undersized ladies and overgrown sluts with their long-awaited phonecalls. Fuck the phonecalls.
Fuck the phone itself.
Fuck every second I were waiting for it to ring, knowing it would not.
Fuck you those letting me be so personal within the certain limits, up to the borderline with the wire fence and a "Private Property" sign. To a certain extent. Just to keep me useful. Just to keep me around.
Fuck everyone who hasn't given me what I wanted. What I demanded. What I had the right to have.
Fuck everything I do not posess. Fuck love. Fuck understanding. Fuck joy. Fuck communication. Fuck kissing, fucking, saying "good morning" and "good evening".
Fuck the whole "How are you doing" thing.
If I don't want a thing, it's hard to use my desires for oneself. You've got nothing go offer. You've got nothing to seduce me, to turn me on, to keep me going with.
You got nothing to make me follow you or at least listen to you.
Fuck you. Go enjoy yourself.
Fuck the affection I never had a chance to display. Fuck devotion. Fuck infatuation. Fuck sex, truth and happiness.
I can do away without all those. have already done it a hell of a lot of times.
Go home, motherfucker, treat yourself somebody else's life.
Love, well, you don't know a fuck about it. Neither do I in fact, but at least i'm not that sure. I'm not that unambigouos and sure about everything I feel. At least I don't claim myself to be the only right person around. You suck, you know. Sorry I spoilt your day, but I've always been longing to do that.
That's a loveletter. Another loveletter she keeps not very well hidden. Some shit about holding and driving and being together and not letting go and all that I-like-it-fucking-you-but-will-never-say-it-outloud staff.
I choke on those. It stinks. Romanticizm may very well go and shove itself up the next week's ass. It's a sick sad world, if you haven't yet noticed.
It hurts to think the girl you'd like to hug&kiss is partly someone else's property. All rights reserved, right? Right? You lucky jerk? It hurts to get put on ice every now and again.
I cut my finger on the icy iron-frozen razor-sharp sleet over the windshield of my car. You like it? D'you like the way I bleed? Or does it tend to make you retch?
You may marvel at the way I treat you all, the whole cunty lot, but you'll never let me closer that within a gunshot range.
Ha-ha, want to read that? Want to see me rip out a small part of your goddamn memory and make it public? If there's a mental shadow fuck, there must be mental shadow whores. How 'bout being the first one?
Do you all around enjoy me being half-laid with the one I don't even know? Coupled up and tied down? Do you really want me tostand all that drunkmind farce?
Go fuck yourself.
Insert, delete, home, end, everyone who wants me instrumental, now you die, everyone who's been so goddamn interested 'till they figured out I don't need a better half of what they offer, manipulatory bitches, decent girls for another shot of whatever they got, undersized ladies and overgrown sluts with their long-awaited phonecalls. Fuck the phonecalls.
Fuck the phone itself.
Fuck every second I were waiting for it to ring, knowing it would not.
Fuck you those letting me be so personal within the certain limits, up to the borderline with the wire fence and a "Private Property" sign. To a certain extent. Just to keep me useful. Just to keep me around.
Fuck everyone who hasn't given me what I wanted. What I demanded. What I had the right to have.
Fuck everything I do not posess. Fuck love. Fuck understanding. Fuck joy. Fuck communication. Fuck kissing, fucking, saying "good morning" and "good evening".
Fuck the whole "How are you doing" thing.
If I don't want a thing, it's hard to use my desires for oneself. You've got nothing go offer. You've got nothing to seduce me, to turn me on, to keep me going with.
You got nothing to make me follow you or at least listen to you.
Fuck you. Go enjoy yourself.
Fuck the affection I never had a chance to display. Fuck devotion. Fuck infatuation. Fuck sex, truth and happiness.
I can do away without all those. have already done it a hell of a lot of times.
Go home, motherfucker, treat yourself somebody else's life.
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21.03.2006 в 17:54-
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21.03.2006 в 20:02-
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23.03.2006 в 13:58