purge data

And me saying I'm a writer is like DR. Phil calling himself a doctor.  
Less messy masturbation has become the only reason to shower anymore.  
I wish I was Black or had Spinal Meningitus or was spending the rest of my life in prison so I had a better excuse for being so unproductive but the truth is I got that Patrick Bateman syndrome.  
There is an idea that is johnrot but I'm simply not there blazi blah, what the fuck ever.  
All I think about is not being sober and suicide and sex and the only reason I'll ever take a math class again is for the hot chicks with glasses. How could anyone ever focus on polynomials when the girl in the miniskirt sitting in front of them has a butterfly tattoo on the back of her neck that keeps morphing into the phrase "HATE RAPE ME AND i'LL DO YOUR HOMEWORK" right in front of their eyes?  
 
Midnight disease, emotional vampire, addict, attention deficit anxiety depressive disorder, Hypergraphia.  
All bullshit excuses for being completely self absorbed, indulgent and selfish, but the ol man gotta be the ol man and the whale gotta be the whale.  
 
Gotta be in a relationship to keep pussy on deck but wanna lock myself in a room alone everyday and annotate pathetic self analyzation that ends up getting thrown out anyway. Get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from this futile endeavor of running them pens dry but hey at least I got great handwriting.  
 
And so all the shit you shouldn't say is all the stuff you should but sometimes you shouldn't. Fucking free spirit poetry writing bullshit. Sick of you all asking why this and why that? Because if you throw away all of the structure,spelling and punctuation you might as well write in Sanskrit or Hieroglyphs you un-evolved fucking audible breather. Don't take English classes than.  
 
The next time it's almost 90 degrees out, I'm hungover and late for class again and the person in front of me is waddling a half a step every 37 seconds down the only sidewalk through the middle of the courtyard because they are posting a picture on Twitter of the sundae they had for lunch that day, I'm punching them right in the base of the skull and going for ice cream myself. Fuck it. It's already over.