Both ends of a gun are the wrong one,
but two wrongs make a right.
I'm not so sure I belong in this world and
swallowing a bullet seems it will correct such an anomaly, so
I place my hand on the trigger, mouth on the barrel
shoot the bullet through the skull and see
bone bloom like a bomb
Prometheus part 2
I’m bind to a tree my family each held knives- Dad stab me in the neck “ you were a mistake”. Mom is next she kiss me on the forehead “ I’m shame of you” stabs me in the back. My older brother shove it in my heart “ I can’t believe you let a man give you a hand job. That’s gross.” My second oldest brother step up “we never love you” then he chop my head off. They rejoice.
I resurrect Bind to a tree my family each held knives.
Describe Your Writing
My writing is careless at best. I rarely proofread or plan. Usually, I spit some shit out on the page and hope for the best. I wish I could say it's some artistic choice to show the frailty and imperfections of existence, but it's really that I lack discipline. I guess it's a bit like fucking. Give it all the hell you have in the moment of inspiration, but you know you could have done so many things better if the goal was perfection rather than getting lost in the moment. I guess that means a typo is like knocking on the wrong door. Just laugh at yourself and keep at it and embrace the joys of imperfection. As long as the closing sums up intention the reader is left satisfied. So my shits unrefined as hell, but I like to think there's a certain beauty and innocence flowing within my awkward wordings and forced lines or conclusions. When inspiration hits, just spit it out and move on. Wait for the next time a moment cracks you open enough you feel it's worthy of sharing. Repeat. So ya, a lot like fucking.