a bullet to the brain or a laceration on your lips, I'm wondering which will make a bigger statement. which would make me feel better inside? your soul is darker than the coffee I drink every morning and i wish there was a way for me to surgically remove it from you so that you can see the black hole you've created within yourself. oh, sarcasm and deception were great in the short term, but you forgot about the ripple that a sadist with a vendetta can create. what started out as an ebb in the pond has grown to a tidal wave of epic proportions, hiding just over the horizon, ready to collapse with it everything you once held dear. and now i've tricked you into thinking you can swim out of any mess, but your fate rests in my mercy, or whatever mercy I feel it is that you deserve. i got you, hook, line, and sinker. fuck the bait, you're not getting anything out of this. and just like that, almost on cue, the door opens and I see the edges of your silhouette trembling against the hardwood floor, and i realize that even God couldn't clean up the blood storm I'm about to invoke.

ever wonder what your reflection in a blade looks like up close? ha-ha. curiousity crucified the cat.

so I slash.

and cut.

and hack.

and mince.

and lacerate.

and dissect.

and shear.

and snip, split, scissor, pierce, lop, rip open, reap, and tear apart.

I slice

then I dice

and even julienne chop.

and now, i'm not the sad clown anymore, I'm just sad. but at least this time it's your blood that i'm drowning in.

such a mess we've made and you're only the accomplice.