I'm trying to give two fucks about your life.
But it's hard.
I don't really care.
I couldn't scrounge up a crumb of sympathy
even if you brought your dead
5-month-old puppy to my door.
I couldn't shit out an "I'm sorry"
for your favorite diseased grandmother.
I didn't give her the burden of dying.
Jesus, you're so fucking stupid...
You're expecting me to give you the okay
to kill yourself.
To give you permission to end
your life of pitiful sorrow
that you've been pack-ratting since
your mother bitchslapped you
and kicked you out.
You juice up every day on a wine glass
full of fresh tears.
You get drunk on a day's-worth of bad luck.
You puke up excuses like a bulimic.
I don't mean to cringe at the sight of you.
It's this nervous twitch I get whenever you come around.
And I don't mean to take shit out on you.
You're just easy prey.
I'm trying to give two fucks about your existence.
But it's hard.
You write some powerful [censored]. There is a non-stop anger in it that draws you like a moth to the flame - leaves you with an uncomfortable feeling that you'll be burned. I'd like to see what you can do with something without anger driving it. Bring it from another place but make it real. You have light in you other than from the fire.
Woa this so reminds me of a track on Tool where the guy says "fvck you american, you know you will have an accident soon. I'm into black magic you know. 1 in every three americans die of cancer, fvck you." this is stark and powerful in a sense but i have to say it seems like you held back or distanced yourself somewhat from the emotion. Maybe it is something you cannot go into too deeply for fear that it might consume you? Still an enjoyable piece, made me feel rather dirty while reading it as if you were pointing the piece at me the reader haha. Anyways it was good, typo in the second last stanza "two and not (to)" . Good work, nice to have you back!