knuckleduster.

murderfucking on an expensive italian leather couch in an enormous living room. every corner fixed with an industrial vice. hallucinogen chandeliers hanging every ten feet, disco ball light colonies recurring a thousand times on the two inch thick carpet. your singing voice gone to complete waste, your face buried in my hands. i think there are systems in place to prevent this from happening. i think there are drugs in this place to enchance this fleshparty. just shut up already so i can make you someone else. and you didn't wear the boots like i told you to, and you left the gasmask upstairs like i knew you would. god i'm learning to hate you, so don't you fucking stop. i don't even know why you bothered walking through that door in the first place. think about the wars being fought, and think about small loving families who will never get out of abject poverty. no, you're not going to drown here, baby. i've got way too much in mind for tonight. there's life in these walls yet.

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