I want shoes. I want a new car. I want plastic surgery to remove these scars. I want money. I want to be skinny. I want a tattoo of mickie kissing mini. I want another dog. I want a new purse. I want my grandfather to jump out of this hearse. I want a girl with huge tits. I want a guy that actually gives two shits. I want the double shift. I want some time off. I want medicine to relieve this cough. I want to stop the bullies. I want to kill myself. I want to have thick skin. I want to will myself. I want the expensive clothes. I want the cigarettes made of cloves. I want the drugs. I want the booze. I want the other team to lose. I want my family back. I want my uncle to not have a heart attack. I want to have love. I want to make it even more. I want to see God. I want it all, and even more. I want diamonds. I want pearls. I want to be desirable to girls. I want to make you squirt. I want to make you flirt. I want to lie. I want to be told the truth. I want actual wisdom from my wisdom tooth. I want to not be late. I want to be able to create. I want to sing. I want to dance. I want to succeed on my last chance. I want to swim. I want to lounge. I want to reclaim what was lost. I want to be found. I want to have a giant ego. I want both feet on the ground. I want to watch a tree fall down. I want to make the sound. I want this I want that I want everything then I’ll take it all back. Because all I need is you.
a trail of empty promises stretching a thousand anacondas, seeking peace and happiness in a world of combat and greed. the child swarmed by flies is the unplanted seed, waiting for what’s never coming, imprisoned for life until death (finally freed). dominance and violence leave the world in ruins, we point our fingers at the deviants and criminals. yet, our actions which speak just as loud if not louder than our words seem minimal. without order, there is only animal. it’s funny, we are animals either way. please, god. help us find our way.
I hate that every picture of you includes you holding a beer.
I hate that you work all week just to blow all of your money on a 32 pack and a pack of Marlboro’s.
I hate that you’re a hypocrite and a weak minded follower.
I hate that you’re easily influenced to be foolish and stupid.
I hate that you’ve lost your belief in God.
I hate that you judge people for bettering themselves because you know that you’re too weak to do the same.
I hate that you consume alcohol and then drive.
I hate that you take strange drugs in order to have a temporary self esteem boost.
I hate that you surround yourself with people that will only get you arrested or killed.
I hate that you don’t care about what your mother would think about your behavior.
I hate that you use the excuse of a bad childhood for your weaknesses. Welcome to the real world, buddy. Everyone’s had it rough.
I love you. But I hate what you’ve become.
Kids with 2 much rage need ridilin
Doc just nods n turns the page of his clipboard.
The truth is: the rage within that kid is the kid’s sword.
All pills n docs do is disarm you n make you bored.
Until all that’s left is a zombie hoard of kids affected.
Rejected by their parents the second that rage is detected.
Then shipped off 2 a shrink to get dissected.
Then 2 a doctor to get injected.
No more individualism, only conformity is respected.
After all, that is what we elected.
The media paints the psycho killer as a kid that’s “just crazy”.
When in reality, it’s you that’s crazy and sure as shit lazy.
What about the pills he took? What was he prescribed?
Oh, that’s too many questions. It would take too long to describe.
The fact is: psych pills cause mass murder and suicide.
Don’t believe me? Of course you don’t.
Because you believe the lie.
I’m beginning to think atheists just need something to hate.
Something to help them relate.
They are the masters of their own destiny, can’t argue that.
But how much did they really create?
A macaroni painting. A work of art. A baby.
All of these things are great, but just maybe… Just maybe you aren’t responsible for it all?
The stars, every single speck in space, every nebula. Was that you? Me? Us?
Don’t think I don’t love your fighting spirit, it’s only your attitude I don’t trust. Hating something for a lot of people is a fucking must. It’s their air. Without something to keep up despair there’s just happiness and tolerance everywhere. Who needs that? Keep your distance from me. Because I hit back.
My art teacher said the other day, she goes, “You can say you’re an artist, but do you have a review on the Huffington Post? You need to be validated before you can say you’re a real artist..” That really threw me off. How can she be so arrogant and defensive? In a way, she was putting herself above all of us who obviously don’t have a review on the post. This isn’t a big deal, except it is. It was discouraging. And a little unprofessional. I get it. You paint well. Some guy on the post said something about your work and therefore, you’re God. After she said that, I almost said something. But I bit my tongue, which, if you know me, you’d know that’s not like me. I like to question teachers about everything they say because A. They should never discourage students and B. They should know wtf they’re talking about or just shut up altogether. Artists can be very egocentric and arrogant, come to find out. As if there aren’t 11 year olds out there that can paint or draw equally as good as them or even better. It’s bullshit. With my teachers logic, you can say you’re a musician, but do you have a Grammy? Did MTV review your album? Even though I much rather listen to a band in someone’s yard and feel like I’m 100 feet tall than listen to Lady GaGa and lose brain cells. My teacher is GaGa, figuratively. I mean… You’re an artist if you want to be. Fuck them.
Have you ever gotten on a roller coaster and gotten that feeling of your stomach being flipped? On that pendulum ride, that’s the one. When it’s stable, you’re excited, not really knowing what to expect unless you’ve done it before. and then you start going, back n forth. Once you pick up momentum, you’re way up and at your highest peak, you feel your stomach turn. You either love or hate the feeling but it never fails. That’s how love is. At first, you’re stable, just strapped in waiting for the ride to start. Next thing you know you’re holding on for dear life while your stomach does a cartwheel and you think “Shit!” The ride is the relationship, back n forth on the pendulum while each side gets to feel that weird feeling in their own respective stomach. That feeling is the thrill of being in love. After the ride, you either become addicted to the thrill and become a roller coaster fiend, or you end up despising rides. Or relationships. You give up on them and your stomach hurts for a while. The question for those people is… Will you ever ride again?