Smile. Smile, motherfucker, and act like you don't know about the hammer behind my back, act like you don't hear my footsteps speeding up behind you. I don't have time for subtle, that's not how the moon's rolling tonight.
It's not about you, I promise, and I apologize. But the blade won't cut deep enough anymore, the blood won't flow. It's a Band-Aid curse and peroxide dream, I'll always wake up tomorrow, and someone has to pay. It might as well be you.
I want to taste your laugh as I make you believe in humanity again, and I want to taste your tears as you lose faith in yourself. Your nightmares smell like the ash from the end of existence, and I can't help but love you for it. I see the flame in your eyes, of the world burning down, and I want to dance in your mind.
To mosquitoes, bug-zappers are the ultimate form of auto-eroticism, they fuck the light to death, and if you think anything different, you've never had the right kind of passion.
Twelve kinds of twisted, but I never get sideways; the trail is crooked, but the path is straight. Straight down. Worry is worthless, pride is pointless, and the only way to win is to rip apart the scorecard.
I refuse to fight any battle I won't lose, and I'll never stop laughing.
Thank you for your time, and I look forward to hearing from you.