This night I just sit and wait wonder and listen. The bookshelf creeps, crept, and talks in silence yet I hear every agonizing scream punching my stomach. There are no abs so every blow jiggles with pain like Santa’s ho-ho-ho on knives. The spotlight burns and is loaded with UV so I guess fame is just a cancer we all crave like the world’s nicotine patch.
I swallow my pride and can admit when someone is better than me. It happens often. What I can’t stand is the congratulations, prize, and effort given to coo over someone so far beneath me I barely fucking know they exist. It’s one thing to be unknown, it’s another to be silent shit. What sucks is sometimes the shit is so ripe everyone smells it and we’ve been cut off from quality for so long we think any smell is worth celebrating.
Fuck those fucking fucks. They can fucking gag on some small cock. Like seriously there is nothing worse than celebrated mediocrity. It drives me up the fucking wall and makes me write so much shit on the page just to get some emotion out that belongs in the trash. The greatest trash manuscripts I have ever written came after reading articles about people like E.L. James.
Like fuck all that!
Fuck Fuck Fuck
I fucking hate when the undeserving are just fuck fuck fuck. They deserve to fuck fuck fuck. I can’t stand them fuck fuck fuck.
Those fucking clowns fucking suck suck suck. I hate those fuckers.
Carry on. Fuck. Let me just steal some shine. I got the words to play I deserve to be on the playground. Let me on the fucking swing. Watch me soar while you fucking wither beneath the fucking wood chips like good manure. You fucking fucks!