From Johnny's journal.
Title: Despicable
Genre: Poetry. Not the fluffy kind.
Pairing(s): John/Bobby
Rating: A steep R for language and imagery. Maybe it should be NC-17.
Notes: Something John would have written during X2 or shortly thereafter, and didn't intend for anyone else to see. He has a huge portfolio of this kind of stuff - his random utterances of the here and now. Warning: this is NOT fluffy. It is angry, dirty, dirt-crusted-glass-shards-lacerating-your-skin painful. Enjoy.
My mind is disjunct. -I diss you motherfucker! Disjunction of nonfucked chromosomes is burnt in blank hells with wayward loss of language targets. I scorch your earth you punish with stone. Blackened oil-bile slips viscous down the broken slope of love. I fucked your motherfucking life story. You lost but hid beneath her creamy white façade, and I ate that sweet bread, sweat soaked tee-shirts and all.
Once I thought it could all burn clean, bright lights heat dazzling violet-fucked pain, but even brightest candles spot-welds soot into lungs. Cancerous wax drown choked inverted, outside-rapes-inside trees in the forest where cars meet concrete and pavement smells - you. I drank that fucking coffee. Swallowed it down. Burnt tongue scald mind dried eyes parched cells with diuretic bliss turned neurotic shifts and jerks in the early morning darkness still.
I hate your mother, she thinks I fucked you up but really I just fucked you without any of that sexual shit, moaning and bleeding all over your subconscious until you couldn’t stand the sight of blood-mixed-cum stinging your eyes and clogging your ears anymore without even realizing it.
I hate your father, he beats you between Gibraltar’s cliffs only to drown you -doesn’t like the end result either. You lost your soul to forsaken crowd of token forgiveness, sacrosanct fake reality the dead don’t choke on their maggots. Virginity is something to be cherished and then taken. Eaten. Shit-smashed on the ground.
Someday clean cloudbursts drench air, sick you up with watery burns in starving bronchioles just waiting for released the inverted, inside-wants-out tree fucked up hells built just inside you to fuck over the rest of us - only ever me. Someday I’m gonna burn. Someday I’m gonna steam. Someday I’m going to vaporize my tits, shred my dick for the pain of fucked fetish drama oozing clean-contaminated blue-red blood onto green sheets of your mind. And you’re gonna puke. Because you’re fucked.
Genre: Poetry. Not the fluffy kind.
Pairing(s): John/Bobby
Rating: A steep R for language and imagery. Maybe it should be NC-17.
Notes: Something John would have written during X2 or shortly thereafter, and didn't intend for anyone else to see. He has a huge portfolio of this kind of stuff - his random utterances of the here and now. Warning: this is NOT fluffy. It is angry, dirty, dirt-crusted-glass-shards-lacerating-your-skin painful. Enjoy.
My mind is disjunct. -I diss you motherfucker! Disjunction of nonfucked chromosomes is burnt in blank hells with wayward loss of language targets. I scorch your earth you punish with stone. Blackened oil-bile slips viscous down the broken slope of love. I fucked your motherfucking life story. You lost but hid beneath her creamy white façade, and I ate that sweet bread, sweat soaked tee-shirts and all.
Once I thought it could all burn clean, bright lights heat dazzling violet-fucked pain, but even brightest candles spot-welds soot into lungs. Cancerous wax drown choked inverted, outside-rapes-inside trees in the forest where cars meet concrete and pavement smells - you. I drank that fucking coffee. Swallowed it down. Burnt tongue scald mind dried eyes parched cells with diuretic bliss turned neurotic shifts and jerks in the early morning darkness still.
I hate your mother, she thinks I fucked you up but really I just fucked you without any of that sexual shit, moaning and bleeding all over your subconscious until you couldn’t stand the sight of blood-mixed-cum stinging your eyes and clogging your ears anymore without even realizing it.
I hate your father, he beats you between Gibraltar’s cliffs only to drown you -doesn’t like the end result either. You lost your soul to forsaken crowd of token forgiveness, sacrosanct fake reality the dead don’t choke on their maggots. Virginity is something to be cherished and then taken. Eaten. Shit-smashed on the ground.
Someday clean cloudbursts drench air, sick you up with watery burns in starving bronchioles just waiting for released the inverted, inside-wants-out tree fucked up hells built just inside you to fuck over the rest of us - only ever me. Someday I’m gonna burn. Someday I’m gonna steam. Someday I’m going to vaporize my tits, shred my dick for the pain of fucked fetish drama oozing clean-contaminated blue-red blood onto green sheets of your mind. And you’re gonna puke. Because you’re fucked.