I’m so fucking sick of beating my fists;
no amount of words make any difference.
Congratulations on saliva spit into a god
Drinking in every objection.
Sucking back every contention.
Distracting from every intention.
Ideas not worth the mention.
Fuck this identity, futility in everything -
no it’s not worth it, no it’s not worth it.
Don’t look for me for sympathy, for anything;
I won’t be there, I am not there.
When everything’s conjecture-useless
fucking perspective-I only see agony.
I don’t want any of this.
I don’t need any of this.