I bid you ado you cockucker. You see my beliefs lead me to a desolate, rust stained room, to the hidden sanctum of my reverberating mind, to the place that is miles away from the automatic smog spitters, the flammable cash whores, and the inflatable egos of the self-appointed holy. This is where I find succor, where I can elude the cranks with their pickled serpent’s tongues and bottomless cash boxes that double as portable souls. You see I never wanted to be part of that world, the world you screw yourself into. I hate it. This is what you never understood. I wasn’t running to you. I was running from you.
There are lines in old songs about bridges burning and lovers lost that I could swipe and staple on this page but to what ends would I do so? You find yourself where you lie, where you lost, where I am no longer standing for I am gone forever inside myself to you. The only difference between you now and you in a hundred years is the wood box you will be wearing. May the worms have mercy on your frilly underwear.
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