You know what I am a pyscho and I've thrown out my meds to feed the pidgeons' shit shit shit you've got the gun and I've been hit but when I shout my tongue is split and all that comes out is snake speak like parseltongue. So get up and read what my eyes say-- they're brown but when in a certain angle there are specks. And the specks play out like tea leaves at the bottom of the cup so you've got to read them. And when you do you'll see the hex-like sex sewn into myself, my eyes are the breeding grounds for passion. But there is a indicator in the iris that tells the truth of the illness, the intricate incident at the heart of everything evil, everything deniable and laughable till the day it comes down to it. And that day comes and it comes with a crash smash slam and a tissue to wipe away the snot. I hope you rot, I hope you die decay and disappear and drag down all the things I'm not, all the things they tell me all the things they refuse. Cause you know what? I've been used and I'm tired of you so I'm through with the bags under my eyes and my bags by the door. Cause I'll have my say and I'm here to stay and you're not. So go to hell just go to hell go to hell and rot.