Fell off this week



(I mean year),

warped in my head now



pressure,

the way I feel,

no one can

pretend to here



I do, but I really

lose myself



in



anger and nowhere to put it.



fucking people don’t know me



misery purely my own fault



I’m the one to blame for wasting whatever I had



hate myself. And hate everyone



involved with



bitch,



make him grow horns.



I write this with teeth gritted.



A portrait in self-immolation.



No one could get a bead on that other Vincent, either.



At least he had a brother who believed in him.



Here, in poisonous age, people like us

have no such

fucking luxury.



I’m sulled up,



man