Have you ever realised
that everything you miss
is not all that special
or good to begin with?
Vomiting away my days,
it feels like bulimia.
You say you need your own way,
like drug-fuelled paranoia.
I take advantage of myself;
I’m wasting time and what is mine.
You know how to pick the best times
to hand deliver the worst lines.
And now that you’re begging,
words and lies you don’t mean,
I know this isn’t real;
you’re faking that you’re keen.
So I guess it’s fine I puke
all good sentiment away.
I guess it’s appropriate
you’ve entrapped your mind away.
I can do all that I’ve dreamed of;
my sharpened heel is on your throat.
It was my choice to play your game
And now I hope you fucking choke.
Venting is a good kind of purge in my opinion!