randomrockstar

I feel sickened.

I feel like a creep.

I feel like a loser.

I feel like a tool.

I feel like a doorbell.

I feel like murder.

I feel sickened.


You asked how I was feeling... rough?...I could've used some fabric softener. I could've gone around the world three times from your energy alone. But I'm alone. And I'm dying. And I'm miserable. And you killed me. I hope your fucking happy.
Now you'll live in the world that you created, you designed, you dreamed up, and you're all alone, and without me to make you whole. So excuse my not-so-lighthearted jab into your empty hole.

And watch me smile as the blood drains from your face.

And hear me laugh at the smile that drips death.

And see my feet shuffle in the dirt.

And plug your ears to the silence.

And know that my heart used to bleed for you.

And agonize for the rest of exsistance knowing that it won't ever again.