Busted

And I hold on hope
And I will let you choke
on that noose around your neck

Shit's fucked up, you know? Like, you think it's fuckin' goin' good- and it fuckin' ain't. I don't get it.
You go out, you do shit, shit gets done, but really, it doesn't. It never fucking does, and it never fucking will.
You spin your wheels, day in, day out, nothing ever really happens. You're fucking stuck. You're a fucking useless piece of shit. You look around, and everyone around you is fucking changing, and you're fucking the same. You're fucking stuck in the mud that you don't even remember falling face fucking first into. And you won't get the fuck out. You're gonna have to get pulled out by someone fucking better than you, more fucking successful- fucking something, fucking anything. And it's gonna suck ass when you get out- and you're standing there, covered head to toe in fucking shit. And then what's gonna happen? You're gonna go home, wash the fuck off, and realize you ain't got no goddamned towels, and that this isn't even your fucking house. You fucking loser. You fucking piece of shit. I don't even know what or why or how, but you're there.

And you're fucking stuck.
You're fucking stuck, and I'm fucking sick, and nothing ever changes, shit stays the same, you don't know what the fuck to do. Keep on living the same shit, doing the same shit, being the same shit. You'll always be the same shit. Maybe one day, it'll fall together on it's own. You know, maybe. But you fucking doubt it. That's your fucking problem. You fucking DOUBT. But even when you aren't fucking second guessing every goddamned minute of every goddamned monotonous day, you're still fucking sitting there hating yourself.

You're watching TV. You never change the fucking channel. It's the same shitty sitcom, fucking Nick @ Nite is down your street. It's your fucking life. YOUR FUCKING LIFE. Don't even ask me what the fuck to do- because I don't fucking know, and neither do you. We're all just living through this shit as fast as we can until we fucking die- and then what happens? An eternity of literally being stuck in the mud. Before, I was fucking kidding. But now we're gonna all get fucking buried and fucking rot. I mean, it's not like we're all not fucking rotting right now. You are a goddamned apple in a sweltering hot car, with fucking bricks instead of tires. You aren't even the car. You're the rotted piece of crusty shit in the front seat. A fucking raccoon would dig his ass into the car, look at your stupid ass, and walk the fuck out. Even a fucking woodland critter doesn't want shit to do with you.

I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. But you don't either. Or you. Or you. Or you, you motherfucker in the corner. You're barefooted on the street, asking people for shoes. No one wants to give you any shoes, because they all see what a piece of shit you've become, what a piece of shit they are, what a piece of shit every fucking thing you and me and they and I have ever known, done, wanted, thought, become, became, what the fuck ever really is.

It's not gonna change. There's no fucking use crying about it. I mean, shit man. You know? I think you fucking do. You think you fucking do. But you don't, and you never will. I don't even know what I'm talking about, crying about, whining about, going on and on in the same goddamned fucking circle day fucking in and day fucking out. And for what? For nothing. Bullshit, I say. It's all fucking BULLSHIT. You know it, I know it, your fucking mom knew it the day she laid eyes on your ass.

FUCKING FIX IT. I don't know. Shit, I really don't. I'm just going on in circles, triangles, squares, cubes, on the same fucking track, the same fucking speed, I'm on repeat. I'm on shuffle. You're only one song. That song that was good a few years back, but now when it gets played on the radio, people just change it to fucking static so they don't have to hear your shit. I'd rather listen to coat hangers banging on a chalkboard than to listen to your fucking bitching.

Stuck, in the mud, on repeat. You're beaten, you're done. You're dead. You're the squirrel and you're the fucking car, and you're laying in the road dead, and even the fucking crows aren't gonna fuck with you. You aren't worth fucking with. No one is, really. I mean think about it. REALLY FUCKING THINK ABOUT IT. Has anyone ever really done anything? I mean, really? No, everyone fucking dies in the end, and we're stuck. We're fucking stuck here. We are biological miracles and we can't even. You can't. I don't. Fuck you.

7 billion people on the planet. S-E-V-E-N fuckin' billion. And what are we all doing? Not a goddamned thing.

You get up in the morning, and it doesn't matter. You do shit all day, that you think is fucking important, that you think is fucking impressive, that you think will somehow, somewhere, maybe, perhaps, doubtfully, fucking help you. And it doesn't. You go to bed at night, and that doesn't matter either. You're just laying there, almost fucking dead, but your hearts still beating, and you're going, you're going, you're gone.

And now you're awake. You're dreaming. Isn't this all a fucking dream. No one fucking knows. Everything is just one giant waste of time fucking bullshit.

I love you, you love me, we're all fucking lying about it. What actually matters? Fucking nothing. What makes you happy? Really? That's a stupid fucking answer, and you're fucking stupid for fucking telling me that. You know I don't give a shit. I never gave a shit. You aren't worth shit.

You're done, I'm out, you're gonna get in my car and drive it over a goddamned cliff- and I won't even get the fucking insurance money out of it, because I fucking pushed you. Someone fucking pushed all of us. Never in the right direction, never for the right reasons, never for fucking anything at all. Just for shits, just for kicks, get these bitches off my dicks. Goddamned, I'm tired of fucking spinning. You're a busted down carousel. You're one squeaky horse. No little kids play with you, and adults just walk by and shake their fucking heads. They remember what it's like- but do you? No, you fucking fried out piece of shit. You don't. And you never will.