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I'm begging you to despise me please

I'm a walking contradiction and 

I think my shit don't stink 

You gotta hate me man,

I spit on your mother's pussy

Then I go and write about how

good it felt


like this: "ur m0ms puss is liek fukin dank. ima start makin milkshakes wit dat ass"

I'm a POSER I 


But it's your job

to rip the stitches 

and have me burst at the seams

Because you know best?

Of course you know best

You winded old bag,

You see me

You touch me

And you talk to me


You know me better

than my own mother

(who you should hate for bringing me into this world. That vile reptile. ) 

I am JUVENILE and stupid

I don't know which way is up

down but all I know I don't know shit about

So what I  want you to

is hate me till your

eyes bust open and you 

bleed blue all over those

cum-stained motel 6 sheets

Go ahead motherfuckers, do your worst. 


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

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In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…