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String mutilation and vulgarities


I the underappreciated depreciating romantic. Sage of mystique, minstral of emptiness. Sullen and shunned for trying to be anything and something. Cannot be. Will not bow to the tasteless hypocrites who eliminate the glimmer of hope which, to me is so alien. Can I breathe in my own filth? Can I breathe in theirs? Will I remain chained to this opression forever? Time will not tell, for she is asleep on a bed of nails. Christianity to consume me with faith? Not for me, it's a waste. Dodge the machine. It is thirsty. There is no total escape from the madness you know. There is only the bliss of insanity. The brink of survival, the brink of death. I have been consumed. Though I cannot recall when, where or how. I feel the change consume me, feel the cold. Numb and dumb, but aren't they so simmilar. Erotic constipation of the heart with no excuses for it's choices. You can't choose who you love, you can't choose who you hate. When you are empty everything seems so bleak. In the rear view the world looks so small. You can't look. Grit your teeth and burn in flames of lonliness. for life is hell. I'll see you there. Sleep well....