Maybe It's Dead

But I cant dance. And there's no moonshine. And I've already set fire to myself fifteen times. My bones should be spicing up the decor in the dungeon not being dragged through the ballroom. You think a bit of scent and some blue silk is going to make us all forget that I'M FUCKING ROTTING?! It's understandable that it has escaped your notice considering there are just so many cheeses on display here but I think it's time to pack it all up and put me back in the rubbish bin where I've been hiding all this time. I like the trash. Yes it smells on occasion but it's a dry rot. And I made myself a castle out of tree stumps and named all of the glass bottles. You see that scratched Corona? That's Rubio. I'm supposed to be attending his thirty daughters' quincineras. They're all next week. I mean I would take you along but it's kind of a family thing, you know?