Scorch

Mr. White is a fucking pussy! A life theorist who is too shook to taste its juice. He will be the first to feign injury and the most likely to sell you out to save himself. He lacks balls. Fuck that guy. That ain’t the real him. That’s just his mons pubis showing.

Amarilla is trying to frame me in an image. A gentle caricature i.e. safe, secure and certain. Your concerns are just that. Is that the real you? Who are you? How can I fuck an image? Who are you and why the fuck are you here? And don’t give me soppy bullshit! How can I ‘know how to fuck’ you? How can I even want to fuck ‘you’, your image? Fi ufa benefit?!

People talk about ‘love’ all the time like they know shit about themselves. Motherfuckers know more about ‘love’ than about themselves. Well, unu can keep dat to unu bloodclaat self. Awoah!

Pansy, are you really just a damsel in distress who doesn’t always smile with her eyes? A fragile flower? Who are you? Why the fuck are you here?

Oh, and if you fuckers are saving all that wonderful ‘good catch’ criteria for that ideal person then what the fuck are you doing with it in the meantime?!

Maybe what I’m angry, defensive and passionate about is complete bullshit. At least I could admit if it was! Maybe the anger is a fence and there’s so much more beyond it. Never mind who’s at the door-who are you and why are you here?