Monday, 6 July 2015
The More I Repel, The More You Seem To Cast Me Under Your Wicked Fucking Spell
I'm in fucking hell. I'm fucking unwell. I'm fucking all your friends. Or at least all the ones you've never gotten round to deleting off Facebook I guess. Your true close ones all loathe me as well. And every time I ejaculate, I feel like an empty fucking shell. I remember stumbling but you have to land before you can find out exactly how far you fell. All I know is that meeting you was a fucking death knell. I'd swap every day I spent with you for a cancer cell. At the sky I yell, in the ground I wish to dwell.