I can't fucking believe it. This world is fucked. There is no retribution here. Anything you can say or do is beyond it. How's that handbasket treating you?
Money is a fix.
RELATIONSHIPS are a fix. And so is your fake marriage.
My only hope is that you destroy yourself before you bring anyone else down with you.
If you are reading this, I only hope that you understand that love will lose. Not in every situation, no. But if it's up against money and it ends up losing, then it's not true love. Mine would never have fallen that way.
In this case, his did.
Bitch, you are fucking with a man's sanity. And I loved you. How in the FUCK could you say something like that? He cares for you and you are mindfucking him into a state of incapasitation. I sincerely HOPE that you are destined to never be happy. Destiny should determine you incontent. I hope for that, and I'll be glad if it happens.
There are no words for this. It's fucking carnage, the hearts you've broken and left in your wake. There is no remorse, and I take no pity.
You're lost and you can't admit it. Enjoy your money. It'll last you about as long as the next prescription.
***
There's an image of a man distorted. He's in pain and his face is arched upward crying out to no one, and he understands this. His tongue, extended, coils from his mouth that's been destroyed from knowing that his battle is only uphill from here.
This image exists because I painted it. I pulled it from my subconscious in a bout of anger and fear. I tore it from knotches that had barely been carved out of my life.
I gave that painting away.
And when I walked into the home of the person I'd given it to it was lying face down on the floor. The whole evening came together at that point. I understood that it was all fucked. That cry may as well have been in the forest, because no one cares.
No one.
The riddle was solved, the question was answered.
And sure, I'm certainly emo at this point, but listen up, listen once, and listen well:
NOTHING.
Money is a fix.
RELATIONSHIPS are a fix. And so is your fake marriage.
My only hope is that you destroy yourself before you bring anyone else down with you.
If you are reading this, I only hope that you understand that love will lose. Not in every situation, no. But if it's up against money and it ends up losing, then it's not true love. Mine would never have fallen that way.
In this case, his did.
Bitch, you are fucking with a man's sanity. And I loved you. How in the FUCK could you say something like that? He cares for you and you are mindfucking him into a state of incapasitation. I sincerely HOPE that you are destined to never be happy. Destiny should determine you incontent. I hope for that, and I'll be glad if it happens.
There are no words for this. It's fucking carnage, the hearts you've broken and left in your wake. There is no remorse, and I take no pity.
You're lost and you can't admit it. Enjoy your money. It'll last you about as long as the next prescription.
***
There's an image of a man distorted. He's in pain and his face is arched upward crying out to no one, and he understands this. His tongue, extended, coils from his mouth that's been destroyed from knowing that his battle is only uphill from here.
This image exists because I painted it. I pulled it from my subconscious in a bout of anger and fear. I tore it from knotches that had barely been carved out of my life.
I gave that painting away.
And when I walked into the home of the person I'd given it to it was lying face down on the floor. The whole evening came together at that point. I understood that it was all fucked. That cry may as well have been in the forest, because no one cares.
No one.
The riddle was solved, the question was answered.
And sure, I'm certainly emo at this point, but listen up, listen once, and listen well:
NOTHING.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Def Jam Poetry.
All that I have done to help. All lip service. I can't believe it. It sits in me like gut rot.
I almost told him. Good thing he couldn't stay. After some drinks I would have.