One ticket to Hell, please.
“She’d do anything I wanted” as opposed to “she’d given me her heart”.
“He was putty in my hands” as opposed to “he was head over heels”.
Out of the above two comparisons, the former statements grate with me. A lot. You notice the difference, right? You don’t? Oaf!
Power-trips are nice. I mean, come on. You know you love them. Having someone love you to that point where their only consideration is your well being and every desire. That sort of love is so comforting. How’d you get them into that state? Yes - you at the back - how’d you do it? You pretended to feel the same? How clever of you! How about you - what’s so great about you? He’s just always worshipped you? That must feel great! Christ, we’ve got a good group of people that feel so fucking pleased with themselves here. Warms my heart, that does.
So warm, in fact, that it’s boiling the blood in my aorta. I’m sorry, I’m just so motherfuckingly warmed by your smug, ego-fat faces that I’d like to slit open my wrists and shower you all in my piping hot blood, hoping with my dying heartbeats that my melodramatic death will allow a single, solitary word of this slip past your brass walls of vanity and pomp and stuck-the-fuck-upness.
I’m talking to your soul here – your lonely, derelict soul. Listen.
I despair for people that power-trip. It’s just so… Meaningless. So self-absorbed and self-gratifying. And at the end of the day it’s just fucking masturbation. You’re not tripping on anything except yourself.
Think quite hard about it. You’re not in love. How can you be? You’re on some sort of sick joyride on another person’s love for you. Maybe that feels great, and that’s one of the reasons you’ll always be an obnoxious cunt. The other reason is, of course, exactly how you’re achieving this state of euphoria. Because people are enamoured with you - with barely any effort from you - and therefore you’re brilliant? You’re not brilliant – they’re just dumb. You’re being worshipped by dumb fucks. That’s not brilliance. It’s rubbish and laughable. To feel great about it is just… Sad.
Your power-trips are built on lies or idiocy. They have to be. You’re just loving yourself – nobody else is. The people you think are around your little finger are either stupid or in love with someone totally different to you. They just think it’s you. But it’s not true. Your soul remains untouched.
It’s lonely in there, isn’t it? If you weren’t so caught up in it, I’d feel a lot more sorry for you.
“He was putty in my hands” as opposed to “he was head over heels”.
Out of the above two comparisons, the former statements grate with me. A lot. You notice the difference, right? You don’t? Oaf!
Power-trips are nice. I mean, come on. You know you love them. Having someone love you to that point where their only consideration is your well being and every desire. That sort of love is so comforting. How’d you get them into that state? Yes - you at the back - how’d you do it? You pretended to feel the same? How clever of you! How about you - what’s so great about you? He’s just always worshipped you? That must feel great! Christ, we’ve got a good group of people that feel so fucking pleased with themselves here. Warms my heart, that does.
So warm, in fact, that it’s boiling the blood in my aorta. I’m sorry, I’m just so motherfuckingly warmed by your smug, ego-fat faces that I’d like to slit open my wrists and shower you all in my piping hot blood, hoping with my dying heartbeats that my melodramatic death will allow a single, solitary word of this slip past your brass walls of vanity and pomp and stuck-the-fuck-upness.
I’m talking to your soul here – your lonely, derelict soul. Listen.
I despair for people that power-trip. It’s just so… Meaningless. So self-absorbed and self-gratifying. And at the end of the day it’s just fucking masturbation. You’re not tripping on anything except yourself.
Think quite hard about it. You’re not in love. How can you be? You’re on some sort of sick joyride on another person’s love for you. Maybe that feels great, and that’s one of the reasons you’ll always be an obnoxious cunt. The other reason is, of course, exactly how you’re achieving this state of euphoria. Because people are enamoured with you - with barely any effort from you - and therefore you’re brilliant? You’re not brilliant – they’re just dumb. You’re being worshipped by dumb fucks. That’s not brilliance. It’s rubbish and laughable. To feel great about it is just… Sad.
Your power-trips are built on lies or idiocy. They have to be. You’re just loving yourself – nobody else is. The people you think are around your little finger are either stupid or in love with someone totally different to you. They just think it’s you. But it’s not true. Your soul remains untouched.
It’s lonely in there, isn’t it? If you weren’t so caught up in it, I’d feel a lot more sorry for you.
posted by Juliet is Bleeding... | 5:10 pm
