Declaration of Fuck You
Who'd have ever thunk? Sweet little "Jay Money" grew up, went crazy, got himself some eyeliner and nailpolish and became an alchy. My life began at the age of nineteen, and for that to happen someone else had to die. I realized that it's not me who made things difficult, my mind wasn't my fault. Never in a million years would I ask for an apology from anyone involved. In fact, a big thank you to all those out there who knew my predecessor. A new day has once again dawned and now that's it's Spring again I can see clear through to tomorrow. No more backsliding. Here is the real me: I'm not smart but I have more common sense than you, I have awful terrible thoughts, I'm reliable and considerate but I could give two fucks about you in the long run. I'm sorry about your problems and I expect you to be sorry about mine, however, I will listen no longer, because I never planned on speaking in the first place. I rage in private, I wear ear-damaging headphones; I hate being looked at by strangers. I'm the kid my mom used to warn me about. I'm decent on the surface but inside I'm rotten, still though, I'm one person who in his heart is truly not a total hosebag. I hate school, I like working for my money, I lie, I cheat, I say the 'N' word a lot. I don't eat. I do drink, I do drugs, I don't give two shits about politics. I'm fucked up and I like to get fucked up, and maybe at some point even get fucked. I'm emo, completely self destructive with no plans of stopping. I don't hope, I make shit happen, and if it doesn't happen, someone suffers with me. I'm the sweetest asshole you'll ever know. I couldn't be better off. This isn't for you, it's for me. Never again will I live for someone else, that ship has sailed and I'm blowing it out the goddamn water. After only two years of life, maybe I can start living for me. Jay Money is officially dead. I killed him with an exacto knife and 60mg of Hydrocodone. This is what happens when shit gets bad and that's the area I've pretty much set up shop in. Anybody disagrees, deosn't like it, wants me to trade in all the black tight t-shirts and silver for something plaid and button-down again, well...see the title.