�get me the fuck out of here

It�s not even that cold out yet, but I�m already completely sick of everything and everyone around me. It all seems so useless and petty when I sit back and think of it. The casuals are the ones that will always be there. The lifers seem to just disappear into thin air, only to reappear as different people. Let�s bring the champagne back to my place, everyone knows this is nowhere. It all comes down to what I want now, and if I don�t get it, I need to leave. I need to leave everyone I know alone, let them do their own thing. I have no place here, I don�t agree with a word out of a single person�s mouth. I don�t even try to anymore, as it�s completely useless. Again, I can sit here and talk shit about it all night, but it�s so fucking dead at this point. Pointless stories about this foolish female and that foolish female, and this girl who fucks with people�s heads, and then gets herself thrown out windows of airplanes travelling to far away exotic places to kill enemies. She isn�t going to get there. She will never meet her enemy. She gets thrown off the team. Where are the ones who are ignorant and don�t know who I am, or are able to read me. I don�t try to put off some sort of �nice guy� thing at all, but it all reverts back to that. It�s a waste of fucking time being a nice guy. It gets you nowhere in this world. This is why I lie to people. I lie to every single person I know. I�ll lie to my girlfriend, I�ll lie to my best friend, I�ll lie to my family, if I know it�s going to save my ass from having to talk. I have nothing to talk about, so I need to bullshit around things. I feel this urge to just lie to everyone, and they have no fucking clue. Goes to show how close people pay attention to details. I catch the liars like moths in a net. I catch them talking their game, and choosing their defenses. I catch them telling me about how great it is to see me. Asking me what I did the night before, or the day after. I could give two fucks what anyone did the day before, why should I bother telling anyone this boring small talk? I can go on and on with lies, hours and hours of stories of what I did this night and who I was with, but it just gets boring. Creating characters out of thin air to pass time. Long lost friends show up in my life and want answers immediately. They want thank you cards written out immediately. They want that obligatory pat on the back. Unfortunately, I don�t want to give anyone the time of day anymore. It�s not healthy to do these things, I know it, but Ozzy Osbourne tells me to do it. Ozzy Osbourne and Tony Iommi and Bill Ward and Geezer Butler, they all tell me what to do day to day. They tell me the room is the answer, the people are going to steal from you. You can�t trust a woman. You can�t trust women they tell me. I tell them that I doubt that could possibly be true. I tell them there has to be some good ones. Whatever the case, they seem to know what they are talking about, and far be it from me to doubt them. I give the members of Black Sabbath the benefit of the doubt. I don�t give the real people shit, they don�t get a fucking peep of reality. They don�t get a slice of life. They get the runaround. They get the long story of a short life span. I met this woman who told me it felt so good, and pronounced my name correctly and everything. She spoke my name in nice staccato syllables. She grabbed me hard and threw me on the rug for three nights in a row. She told me to never forget her. To this day I cannot pronounce her name correctly. I can�t remember the color of her eyes. You can either waste your time trusting people, or move along to the next group of suckers. You can bet all your money on one person, one color, and lose it all in an instant. All the women they want me to hang around and watch them fuck other men, and fill their stomach with whiskey and sperm. They want me to hold their hand walking across the puddle. When it�s time to throw the gloves down though, they need to run away and ignore me for the rest of the month until it�s time again. Yeah, it�s time again to be another lollipop. I bought a ticket, and now I have no clue when it�s going to stop. The merry-go-round will not stop. It goes one way, and then it goes another. Parties filled with empty beer bottles, and even emptier bodies. Parties and bars filled with a million liars, and me sitting there waiting to lie along with them. Watch them fuck each other to death. Listen to their stories about how good it feels to be something. Watch them tell bad jokes with bad breath. What could possibly be worse than a woman with alcohol on her breath? Perhaps a woman telling you she wants you with alcohol on her breath. Some stupid fucking girl in Prince�s favorite colored car in the most hate filled area of the world telling you to take her downtown to buy a new party dress, so you can watch her bleed all over the inside of you new car. It sounds attractive, sounds like it could be a great night out on the town, oh yeah�on the other hand, it�s what I do day to day anyway. Drive them to buy new dresses, give them top secret information that the football team would kill me for giving away. Give out secret hand shakes and tickets to all the good movies I star in from time to time. Put them all on the guest list so they can come to the party and dance around me in circles and twist my arm to go out to the car for cigarettes and lipstick tasting contests. My birthday is creeping up, three weeks from last Friday I guess. I want a nice evening at home with tea and cigarettes by myself. There is nothing to celebrate here. I haven�t accomplished a fucking thing this year. I haven�t changed into anything�maybe someone who�s more aware of how much people generally let me down. Half past three AM and still looking for excuses and reasons why I still get caught in spider webs. Realizing I should have taken her up on the offer. Free pleasure. Get out of jail free card. I should have used her services for the evening, and made my way to the other side as quickly as possible. I most certainly would feel better about things now. I got no gifts. I got no prizes or trophies for that find. A needle in a stack of needles. Sure, I just let her throw me to the lions though. The press, and media got a hold of me, and now look at me. Going on three years without a single person that did anything for me besides let me down. This will all look good on my resume though: �Heart tricked dozens of times, mind played with 8 times, willing to work overtime and put the toilet seat down�

before & after