With helium and horses, on fire on fire the kid advances. Hopes with a broken scent. Shoutout to Ritalin for sponsoring this video. Ads encoded into her brain, for no other to reign. Heil America.
Remember the Beretta in your father’s head, powered by his own might? You will never understand, darling, the weight of shame for everything that was to come.
I remember your denim low-skirt uncoloured by the riptide. I remember because you told me to remember (no you didn’t. I invited myself in. You let me into your diary with eyes wide shut). He assumed you’d be just fine, maybe better off, resilient and powerful like a powerpuff girl. Maybe his therapist convinced him to do it. Maybe you should go kill him. Maybe he was a rapist. Maybe he couldn’t handle it anymore. Or maybe you just sucked that bad.
Assuming is true when assuring is not. Mom won’t be pleased with the result. Beretta is not a brush, Jeff, dammit! She can clean all she wants. You can hide all you want. But it’s done. Emily stop. Emily stop. Stop drawing my face.
Why stop when everything you make is a fucking masterpiece? I’ll pick up all your shades of Emily and frame them with titanium.
You were sick and she was looking for dick. You are still sick and she’s still looking for dick. But mother knows best, mother wants the best for you. Remember what she said? “Get yourself a boyfriend and get out of here”. But you aren’t looking for dick. You are the greatest. You tamed your own silly impulses of despair. You are a monster and you are a star destroyer. So kick me again, write me someday, and run, Emily Blame!
