zombieshark

gin & comet. fuck juice. give me industrial strength cleaner.
i'll take a quick dispatch, over a long drawn out fizzle of a death.
alcohol doesn't fix anything for me, it prolongs it.
what a horrible predicament i've found myself in.
so, i'm going to make it all that much worse.

what a horrible night for a curse.

ain't that the bees knees? broken beneath...
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every second wasted, is time that you will never, ever get back.
if you believe in the concept of time, that is.

fuck time, i say.

life is the most overly drawn out, pointless, excrutiating way to die.

hello gin, re-hello sg. goddamnit. i'll try my best to make the worst of this atrocious union.

the trees are dead, dried up.

a short goodbye, no strings.

i try to be sociable and whatnot, but jesus fucking christ. it's nearly impossible to go 10 minutes without thinking... "is this really happening?" or "are these fucking people honestly saying these things?" nobody speaks any bit of truth to anyone else. you say what you're really thinking... and get looked at as if you're some kind of six headed monstrosity. or, they try to...
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a large pile of shattered, bloody, screaming disaster.
everything is broken, and nothing more can be done.
catpike came. catpike killed. catpike fucked itself.

4 years of membership... gee whiz.

oh god. make it all stop.

CATPIKE. hath returned.

in the name of christmas... god. fucking. damn. it.

manipulate muscles to create faces, exhale words with that speaking thing you do.

it's strange how a single thought can cause your chest to collapse, every single time you think about it. for a very long time. and, then... out of the blue, after one last shuddering inhalation... it just doesn't anymore.