It whispers, burn the fucking house down,

They don’t really love you;
No one  ever will. You are entirely insufferable.
Burn the fucking house down, you can make it look like an accident,
They will never know.
He returns from plummeting depths,
A deranged acolyte, skull filled with dead leaves and purgatory,
Love is piercing agony, thoughts of being alone, but
pleading to snip off their toes with wire cutters,
Simultaneously begging for release, redemption and symbiosis,

Just burn the fucking house down

you are already
trapped
inside.

 

She left me for an artist

“Anything can be art” she said as she
packed her shit, I looked at her and
said “garbage isn’t art” we argued
“Well he makes me happy,” I took a drag
of my cigarette and told her “everyone
deserves happiness,” she gave me a dumbfounded
look as she packed up the panties she never wore for me, she probably pranced around that cocksuckers “studio” in them, and they probably fucked on a canvas getting paint everywhere like a shitty 80’s movie, I said “I’ve never seen those” and she said “I just grabbed them from the sale rack”, bullshit, I thought as I popped open a beer and brought it to my lips, she looked at me and said “I’m leaving you because you drink too much and you are an asshole, you never gave a fuck about me” I looked at her and responded “this beer doesn’t take phone calls all hours of the night, this beer doesn’t say we are friends, I drink it and it satisfies me, something you have never done”
she yelled “fuck you” and left
She left me for an artist.