I'd be the one that dies. (No one dies). Well then what's the point.

This is all I did today (Not that that is a bad thing, it was the best fucking shit I have done in so long; I finished it slowly, even though I had to I still felt the need to slow down more, I wanted to savour this book. It's really something special) - save for some of the usual self-deprecation; and a presentation that I feel I kind of rushed through - I hate that sort of thing. I much prefer talking in my head than using my mouth. My mouth and my tongue are messy, ugly things that I don't seem to know how to use properly - something always breaks up on the way down. This counts as the clothes one too.

I don't like leaving. I don't want to. I feel like everything happens when I'm not there.

If that read 'Nothing Was Beautiful, And Everything Hurt' it would be a more fitting epitaph. Hah. What a barrel of joy I am.

i was sick in my mouth when i tasted the blood in yours

you've got papercuts all over your tongue

from licking and stamping all those envelopes

but youre letters are stories for one person only

the way you guide that pen across the page

you might as well be writing my obituary

and i know id be able to read the words

to the rhythm of a tragedy; is it one of the greats

is it samuel beckett's or some obscure post-modern wordsmith

but who gets the last laugh when the laughing's written for you

your inspiration might be complex but youre words are simple;

THIS IS WHY I WANT TO KILL YOU

but it's never that easy though is it?

while youre penning out the finer points of my untimely demise

im constructing my life from the things i find in gift shops

how nice it is to feel nothing

and still get the full credit FOR BEING ALIVE

you spent the next 6 weeks with your little secret

come on im not as fragile as you might think

i might burst out inauspicious tears

but id mop them up myself just give me a sponge and a bucket

and something to dry my face with

maybe if i scrub hard enough ill be more attractive

ill duck tape my tongue to the roof of my mouth

so im reduced to bellowing vowels

and ill just stop talking altogether

let you be so requited in your literacy

i ruined it but to be fair i ruin everything

while youre penning out the finer points of my untimely demise

im constructing my life from the things i find in gift shops

how nice it is to feel nothing

and still get the full credit FOR BEING ALIVE

i'd write you stories back but i'd just be telling lies

id concoct a symphony just to open up your thighs

id take you for all your worth and leave you on the hard shoulder

after being with you i know i shouldve gone for your brother

just one more question, is it my face or yours on the cover

(CAUSE THESE DARK CIRCLES ARENT FOR SHOW)