Lady Lovely Locks must die. Her nemesis? Lithium.
The downswing always comes with brass knuckles aimed for the jaw. Now and again I wonder if the beauty is worth the ugliness. Then I find that this beauty is hideous in retrospect. But it feels like nothing else. Only when I agree to leave it forever do I really appreciate the insanity of it. Feaster and de Carle want it locked away. Today, the former gave me the following grim statistics:
50% of us are in or have been in prison
50% of us have had or do have a heroin addiction
25% of us attempt suicide
1.2% of you are members of our sick kinship
Those are my odds. Left untreated, I will surely be doomed to a life of withdrawal, methadone, and relapses. Not to mention the inevitable arrest that will accompany my next destructive episode. But really... fuck it. It feels good. I feel powerful and important and better than I feel at any other time. Isn't that worth the risk? Well, my wildly depressed self says no. She says stay in bed. She says that sort of insanity is not healthy. She says I am overconfident, pointing out that I have little to flaunt. Deferred grades? A heavily bandaged relationship? Several friendships in need of such bandaging? She says settle the fuck down and don't draw attention to your faults. And please, for the love of God, don't add to them. Because do you know who deals with the repercussions? Ms Downswing Herself. And that just doesn't seem fair. After all, Madame Destructo is the one who insisted on such chaos and wreckage. But it's hard to say, "Matty, it wasn't me" when the situation is clear. And it's hard to convince a jury that you shouldn't be held responsible for smashing windshields. Because they'll say, "Well, who's fault is it?" Could you just punish the other side of me? It just doesn't work that way.
Yes, it's better than any drug, but the memories are still there when I come down. And so is the havoc I've wrought.
50% of us are in or have been in prison
50% of us have had or do have a heroin addiction
25% of us attempt suicide
1.2% of you are members of our sick kinship
Those are my odds. Left untreated, I will surely be doomed to a life of withdrawal, methadone, and relapses. Not to mention the inevitable arrest that will accompany my next destructive episode. But really... fuck it. It feels good. I feel powerful and important and better than I feel at any other time. Isn't that worth the risk? Well, my wildly depressed self says no. She says stay in bed. She says that sort of insanity is not healthy. She says I am overconfident, pointing out that I have little to flaunt. Deferred grades? A heavily bandaged relationship? Several friendships in need of such bandaging? She says settle the fuck down and don't draw attention to your faults. And please, for the love of God, don't add to them. Because do you know who deals with the repercussions? Ms Downswing Herself. And that just doesn't seem fair. After all, Madame Destructo is the one who insisted on such chaos and wreckage. But it's hard to say, "Matty, it wasn't me" when the situation is clear. And it's hard to convince a jury that you shouldn't be held responsible for smashing windshields. Because they'll say, "Well, who's fault is it?" Could you just punish the other side of me? It just doesn't work that way.
Yes, it's better than any drug, but the memories are still there when I come down. And so is the havoc I've wrought.