You have to be perfect.
Or you're nothing.
Right?
I wonder where I heard that.
Was it you,
was it me?
Does it even matter.
If you're not someone...
who are you?
What can you do alone
what can you do for us?
and why do I keep asking the same fucking questions.
Singing the same stupid songs.
Playing the same stupid girls.
That's not fair...
you're not playing anyone
you do it to yourself.
You put them through that just to pick your own scabs.
You're sick kid
and that bottle of false gods you keep behind the nightstand isn't going to pull your head out of your ass.
I don't want to be here.
I never did.
Walking that hardwood stage
taking that lambskin from a man I've never seen.
I don't want to be here.
I don't want to make you think I'm a good kid.
I don't want to thank you.
I don't want to shake your hand.
I didn't want to get out of bed today.
And come to your office.
I didn't want to write that paper.
I didn't want to scratch that back.
I didn't do any of this for me.
THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE AT ALL!
I don't know.
I don't know why.
I don't know what.
I just...
for one whole day
want to be happy.
I want to know who I am.
and be...
I was too heavilly medicated to figure this out before,
right?
Too issolated, to ostracized...
too me.
I just want to be perfect.
They tell me to just be me.
But that person never was.
Probably never will be.
The color of wine...
like blood on my floor
stuck from the liver
where the impurities are greatest...
I'll leave you a message there.
Try not to laugh...
at how poor my penmanship is.
how I look without a shirt
my pale white ass
my flacid
empty...
face down
smiling
free at last
Wouldn't it be fun if the story ended here?
All I have to do is push.
All I have to do is scream.
All I have to do is be.
And I just never could figure that out.
Is it as easy as everyone says...
or did I just never pick that up in home ec?
Was I sick that day in school?
How to be...
Be.
I dare you.
That's a damned tall iced tea to drink in one sitting...
can I turn it in next thursday?
All stripped down
and nowhere to go
but up... right?
Not heaven, fuck that choir noise.
but I mean...
I'll turn this around.
Right?
I'll be somebody, if I keep trying, right?
That's what they tell you when you're little.
That true love conquers all.
That some day you'll meet someone.
That if you work hard, society will reward you.
...how hard?
because that daft cunt Paris Hilton is ludicrously rich independantly and as an heiress, and she didn't do a god damn thing but crawl out of an oozing womb.
Screaming here I fucking am world.
Worship me.
Where's mine
god
you PRICK!
WHERE'S MINE!
WHERE ARE YOU IN ALL THIS MESS!
WHERE'S HOPE! WHERE'S LIGHT!
WHERE'S YOUR ARMED GUARD OF CHERUBIM DESCENDING FROM THE CLOUDS!
WHERE'S ANYTHING THAT MATTERS!
I worked hard didn't I?
... I tried.
I loved.
I sought.
Hell...
for a while there I even believed.
Where's mine?
...where are all the sweet lies of my childhood,
coming from out of nowhere to win the race by a length.
Where are you now...
watching us writhe in the dirt,
wailing over our ephemearal "gift"
laughing as you watch us fight in YOUR name
while you wait
for some victor to come crawling out out of the body pile
only to have him crushed under your massive thumb.
That's the shit that really gets you going...
isn't it?
... leave me alone.
I'm too busy hating you.
You've taken enough.
And not just from me.
Voyeuristic deific sadist.
Just put us all in the pot
with no real guide
no real signs
no real mind but to dance on the end of your string
If you're a good boy...
you'll go to heaven...
and forget all your friends who don't believe.
If you give your dimes at alms,
if you walk down that aisle
if you let the preacher's kid
FUCK YOU
Sweet dreams little prince.
The story doesn't end here.
