Part I

I may as well purge my souls and
fucking pack up bags of guts
become the charles manson
of love and other shit and make
my peace with loneliness
breaking other peoples happiness
who fucking needs happiness
if it only ever shows you how sad you can be.

I should sleep with the streets
and develop this worthlessness I teach
there ARE people who would have me
probably even for a price but does money
make something valuable or invaluable in this case
I'd pay to have you dead then I could
pretend that you were mine
somewhere along the fucking line.

I have a tendency to fall to deep and too hard
and the only thing that appreciates this is my art
but it kills me with insanity and profanity
the purgatory like state of knowing I could be great
but being uselessly synical to everything
leaves me with an open-book critical opinion
why give me such shit if you recognise insability
words still cut me like : incompatibility.

"I'll take what I'm given" -fucking hate how it's true
what I hate even more is that the one who's gained
is you.