Would you stop being so goddamn nice all the time? It pisses the fuck out of me. Thanks.

Poem for the Pig upstairs

I hate you,
Please die

She cut off her hair and bled to death.

Please Fuck off and Die

I don’t want to invite you to my home, let you drink my wine and listen to your opinion about my life, my lover, my lack of a carreer. I don’t want to pick up the phone, talk about the weather, about your depression, about my depression, about the dog’s depression. I don’t want to host parties, entertain guests, have a life, create, cook, iron, shit, eat, breath.

Gods

The names on the windows, in the magazines, on billboards, of people who made it, people who are celebrated, worshipped, honoured, make me choke on my own frustration, spit, vomit, rage, foam, like a mad dog. Put me down. Put me down.

The shadows of lunacy were roaming the room as she sat down in a dark corner, watching the patterns the sun made on the wall opposite of her. She had had to contain herself several times that day in order to not strangle every single human being she came in contact with. Every day started the same now, with sighing travelers, frustrated pieces of commuting shit. Yesterday it had been an elderly lady with a poor excuse for a dog, this morning it was a black haired woman in a blue coat, tomorrow it would be a schoolboy with too much gel in his hair. She no longer got up for the fat ones, for the old ones, for the ones who had been selfish enough to carry a child in their bellies. The girl looked at her coworkers shoes, neatly arranged in a straight line against the wall, their blouses hanging above them like curtains in a theater. She had walked into two of them when they were gossiping about her, obviously oblivious about the person she really was, the person who wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them to the cat.

It was dark outside except for the lightning that occasionally illuminated the entire backyard. The wind started blowing more fiercely by the minute, shaking the trees, ridding them from their overripe apples. I was watching her, she was standing close, dragging on her cigarette like a mad woman. The orange light at the end of her smoke threw ghostly shadows on her face whenever she inhaled. “I hope they all burn,” she said. I knew of whom she spoke, she was referring to the people we had passed on our way home, drunk teenagers and drunk fourty somethings with big mouths as a result of group pressure, big mouths and tiny brains, like most of the apes in our province. She threw away her cigarette and sighed. “I hope to fuck we die out and that in a couple of hundred years some evolved beings come down to earth to pick at our bones like we did with the dinosaurs.”

I took the train home, in spite of not wanting to leave London, but I had to, because one could only live in a world of ones own making for so long, and at that moment, the moment I heard the doors close and the people settle down, the moment the train started pulling out and the station started to disappear, I felt truly miserable, as I realized I could travel far and wide and I would always end up being sad and unhappy, because I allowed myself to be exactly that, and nothing more, a smoldering pile of discontent and self pity.

fuck

“I never want to see you again,” she said after she kissed him at the bus stop. He smiled at her. “Well at least we had a good ending.”