And then you stop washing yourself and don't notice because you've lost your sense of smelland then people start shouting WURZEL at you in the streets and you start drinking meths and your nights are filled with retching and throwing up strings of bile into filthy shit-filled sewers and in the morning your head pounds and the weak sun rams needles into your eyes and there's nothing to drink but lighter fluid for two hours til the shops open and then you stumble into work and two hours of talk talk talk and you don't fucking care about Mavis' fucking bunions and talk talk talk talk talk talk and you realise you're talking to yourself and pounding with the paperweight on your desk and her face has caved in and it's lucky your trousers are already red with your own blood but someone is hammering on the door and asking if you're alright and you look at the letter opener and you remember enough to know where your jugular is and you raise it to your throat
(
boris the spider,
Wed 17 Oct 2012, 17:03,
archived)
This is just beautiful.
(
drimble he'd been white, he'd been black,
Wed 17 Oct 2012, 18:54,
archived)