6:00 AM

Celtic frost plays, I am
at home, I got off work at the bar around 3AM
said my goodbyes with shots of whiskey.
did a little coke before driving home
No license no insurance no 
possibility of redemption
troubles with the woman... I don't know, probably.
existential dread... yeah, to be cliche' maybe
I am no Raskolnikov
I do not keep my desires repressed
I am as aflame as the sun in the sky
I am a goddamn beautiful wreck that
people like to buy shirts of
to take pictures with
to bludgeon themselves to death with to the
tune of my bands' tapes but whatever it is
I am alone
Trapped
In this necessity
this morbid truth that 
no matter what
I
Live to suffer and to make the ugliness
beautiful to those too afraid or lazy to 
look at it themselves

watch
watch your favorite failed artist sink into desolation
watch him drink to no end
watch him destroy everything close to him for the sake of
keeping that demon on his back and 
watch him beat this demon to the ground every show
every pained scream, every wild gesticulation
watch that motherfucker
he's got more heart than brains
more than you fucking 
fans of circus performers
internet sensations
10 pounds of shit stuffed into
a 5 pound bag
livestreamed for the leisure class to enjoy
you motherfuckers
you don't know a fucking thing about what this means to us
but we keep letting you win
for some reason

At least
Bukowski would be proud of me