Monday, 20 February 2017

My Atrocious Exhibitions

When they put me in my coffin to begin my final job of rotting, promise me that it won't be forgotten all the Instagram likes I have gotten. When I'm on my death bed surrounded by nothing but the overwhelming weight of regret, let it be said that my Snapchat game at least was nigh on perfect. When I'm facing my final years on this earth alone, let it be shown that I'm a popular guy from all the Facebook notifications forever lighting up my phone (even if they're all from people I barely know). And when I piss away the best years of my life that I should have spent with my children and a loving wife, offer me a fucking knife because with that I could write something far more meaningful than all that fucking Twitter shite.

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