That's not me, you or anybody else. So, just fuck off and stop bothering me with that shit!
Hey!
Would anyone call me back, people? I don't want to die without your bless.
"That's the one step closer to the edge - I'm about to break."
What?
Oh, well, all right.
Okay, okay, I'm faking - I'm not going to die. At least, now. I just need you to pay some attention to my not-give-a-shit person.
Come on!
Knowing me sitting on the floor with my skull exploded and my brains are all over the kitchen - that's not what you want to see instead of your evening TV-show.
This hasn't been planned in your today's schedule, this hasn't been put on your ToDo-list or whatever, so why don't you just call me back and save my life from being melted in oblivion for the whole Eternity?
What?
Mommy, would you be so kind and get your ass out of my sight right now, you dirty whore?!
Even in my warm apartment, the only thing my skin feels is cold, cold and cold again. Nothing more.
And the sight of me, lying on the sofa with my cell phone in one hand and nothing but an air in another, me, trying to catch my muse by the wings, isn't it funny?
Isn't that goddam ridiculous?
Poor little boy, thinking he can achieve something in writing, nice and cute asshole, he supposes he can give people the truth they need. And he simply cannot get that all these morons need is meat, bed and being fucked up by someone else - no matter who it turns to be.
With thoughts like these, how can you keep yourself from not becoming insane?
"The paranoia's all I've got left."
This is what your life can turn into, if you don't give up your efforts to understand yourself and all those people around you.
Your ass fucked up.
Your shit falling right down on the floor from your anus torn apart.
This is not a dream.
This is not a nightmare.
This is your life and with the every second passed it becomes worse and worse.
No limit, at this point, but hey, you want to believe and not to loose your hope, right? You want to be sure there's a bright and happy future straight forwards along the road. You want to know what will be next and you suggest it'll certainly be nice.
But it won't.
All you get is a handful of ashes blown away from your palm by the winds of the past.
So fuck off.
Everything you make will be burned, utilized and forgotten, so why should you bother?
Relax.
And the little boy, this fucked up ass-sucker thinking he's smart and clever, thinking he's a genius - it's quite a pity look, you know. Freak, freak, freak drowned in his own false reality full of stuff of that fantasy kind - she-gods, dark heroes, thoughts of self-decaying - all that shit you can find on each modern bookshelf, this is what your life can turn into, if you don't stop at the proper moment.
Me, I'm still holding my cellular and waiting, waiting, waiting, though I know it doesn't worth the effort.
But still.
All that shit inside my head, it wants to get out of my skull, spread in the atmosphere polluting everything it is able to touch.
Hey, you!
Yeah, you, bastard!
Try and stop me while you still can!
All that shit inside, it's more than I can take. I need someone to listen, someone to talk to, but who cares?
The little piece of decaying flesh lying on the sofa with the full and complete set of complexes, trying to understand and failing, failing, failing once again.
But who the hell cares?
Shit's inside and outside, and you need to get along with this point, if you don't want your brains liquefy and run out of your head by ears, nose and, partly, by mouth.
Blah, blah, blah, that's great.
Now, I'm still lying, I'm still motionless and still, there's the phone in my hand - as numb as dead and as dead as plastic.
It's like you need your blood out of your veins just to make all of those who say they need you need you.
Like crying "Please, shut up!" is not enough to make them quiet.
Poor little freak.
Nowhere in this world you can find peace and silence.
And right up to my face, so close that you can notice all those little scratches made by fingernails on the panel, is my old damned phone, and I look at it over and over and over again, but there's still nothing except the battery indicator blinking, and, shit, I'm really getting tired.
"Shit" - how many times have I used this word during my talk?
Don't answer - it's a kind of ritoric question.
Fly!
My hand draws the curve in the air, and - hey-ho! - the next moment the remnants of my phone are all over the carpet.
It's all to pieces.
It's past, and now I can return to simply lying with my head full of those not-give-a-shit mind conclusions which shouldn't even exist in the real world.
I've freed myself, and that broken piece of plastic is just like the symbol of my freedom.
Now, back to my thoughts no one really needs. All those crazy ideas and images and other fantasy stuff.
Picture me lying on the sofa, eyes are shut, lips are whispering - and you'll burst out laughing, I tell you that.
But who the hell cares?
Frozen in the heat, I lie and lie and lie and... Piss off, you bitch! - that's my mom came when heard me throwing the phone. Me claiming the way out of this world. Me failing, but still calm and frozen.
I said, piss off!
Only in my mind, of course.
'Cause I'm a coward.
And a liar.
And a faker.
Just write down what you think fits best.
But I don't give a single fuck - I've freed myself from the chains of that sticky "would-anyone-love-me-please" point.
I've saved myself from the need of your attention.
I've died inside.
Now, just one moment ago, I finally burned down all of my soul, heart and feeling of loneliness.
So fuck off.
Those plastic splinters on the floor - my former cellular - it seems to be like they're the sign. The emblem. The burning flag of emotions, fading away to the darkness.
You.
Get out of my life and never, ever return.
"Find another place to feed your greed, while I'll find a place to rest."
Silently, I'm laughing.
You know, it's like you take your foot out of the brakes.
Falling down to your personal hell and enjoying the flight.
No, no, no, I'm tired of your voices seeking me out when it's just too late.
I want none of your dumb optimistic faces to show in my window, not anymore.
Now, I'm a shadow, and I'll never, ever be in need of your sticky sweaty hungry eyes.