IRC-Galleria

The sense of cold on my forehead-
cold steal pushing against my thoughts makes me smile.
Only the skull in between stopping everything spreading around the white room.
If I'd pull the trigger, everything I know, knew and will know would be gone in a second.
If I'd pull the trigger there would only be left something dirty with a bad taste.

Yesterday I woke up without a head.

Sometimes I'm having a conversation with my finger.
Right when I'm ready to sleep it starts naging:

"You're anorexic, skinny piece of shit, who can't even sing.
Drown that unborn baby in your uterus and laugh!
You're a cancer, which has to be removed".
The same might go on and on the whole night.
So on a monday morning I cut my finger off.

In a little while,
I'll be gone.
This isn't happening: Im not here.
-On the top of the world
you get nothing done.
"Start at the beginning", the king said.
"And stop when you come to the end".

six fingers wrapped around you,
smoke all around the room.
Gaughing. Laughing.
Waking up naked on a monday morning.

Put a plastig bag over my head.
Put a plastic bag over my head.
No sounds.
Why is daddy kissing another man?

He's so strange.
I don't know anything about him
but if it's all the same to you
here's what I'm gonna do:
I'm gonna buy a gun,
gonna shoot everything and everyone.
And then I'm coming for you.

Rain on the brain.
No raindrops.
No raindrops.

There's a black box in front of me.
Inside of it there's a piece of paper. Someone has written something on it.
It's my handwriting.
It says: "rape"
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.

Eat my fingers
lick my ears
make love to my eyeballs