Allie/Dances with Tricksters
If I fall, the world will not catch me, mad girls only have love songs,
not love warriors, and Plath baked her head in an oven, Picasso sliced
his hearing off so he was deaf to criticism, Byron drank and fucked dead,
Robin Williams had the last joke, Michelangelo froze an artist in fervor,
and the most brilliant of us burn the candlestick at both dull ends, I
am halfway between bag lady and homeless junkie, and every time emotions
(I feel too much, my veins gouge wounds through my flesh) bubble over, too
manic, too depressed, mixed episodes, psychosis, obsessive compulsive corpse,
suicide one day and panic attack the next, everything else is pathetic, paltry.
You think you know fucking pain? Try walking on razors and rape and filth.
Those that blame us for blowing out others brains with guns are the abusers.
Another fucking male special snowflake that…
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