i can feel it rising like bile in my throat, it is bile, it’s the vomit of my life. i taste everyone i’ve ever loved, resting on my tongue they plague me, they push me and beat me. and i forget im in a chair in front of strangers who have never seen me cry before. i ran out, out of my medicine, im sorry im like this. im sorry i couldnt do what you asked. but it doesnt fix anything. no one gets up after that, no one comes back to life. failure looks good on you someone says. i cant see their faces the white light is too bright, but i know the voice, its that same voice that i crave every night to tell me im beautiful, that im the 4th of july and my fireworks are a thousand times more incredible than the rest of the world’s, im chinese new year, dragon costume and cheap lo mein. no. you are a dirty beer glass, half empty and pointless, warm and disgusting. so it rises, the brutal honesty of tomorrow and the rest of my life, so this is it. you know Constantine died but he was really accomplished by bringing the religion of intolerance to us on his death bed. the make up is flaking, again. the phone is ringing but i know no one is on the other end. no one but those sad monotone drones who keep shoving me under buses. i think you were right when you said it doesnt make any difference. then fucked me raw. ive lost a lot, in fact some would say everything. but those people have never had their belly split open, like me. they havent seen what the inside of insanity looks like. and they dont know what it feels like to disappoint everyone. because those are the end credits. and im over.