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lets jump off the Eiffel Towerif this is your first time reading this,STOP!Right here, right nowyouYES YOU, stop.Make sure you know,this is not a suggestion;this is a fact, a command.Try to remember:This is NOT a formula for altruism.This is NOT a masqueraded apology.This is NOT a dysphoric cry for help.This is robbing word banks for lines,then cutting the front of the lexicon.This is adding insult to libel,injury to a broken mandibleone that never spoke anyway.if you've felt like this before,stab me three times in the jaw.Qu'est ce que l'amour?if this is your second time reading this,slam your head into an ovenlike fucking Sylvia Plath;maybe then you'd get noticed.And by you, I mean me,and by me, I mean you,and by that I mean fuckThis is adding sodium to a battle scarand incessantly cussing in a papercut.This is a masochist wearing bandagesto cover the fingers of virgins-in-denial.This is slander and flattery and murder,first-degree charges for lingui
inter-state-course of route 69The traffic jam on the I-15 locked like a Chinese Fingertrap, every vehicle aligned like some fucked-up map of stars over the skyline of a cemetery. Hours before the Sun broke down crying, the Moon undressed its craters and tossed them on the floor of some sleazy galaxy avenue.--Drive faster."But this is as fast as I can go." He spun the wheel the same way he spun his tongue in her mouth: recklessly -- too bad it's not spelt 'wrecklessly'. He sped across the bedspread boulevard with one hand steering the car and one hand steering the course of his life off the road and into a fucking fire hydrant -- or some other explosive metaphor.Oh, I want to feel a rush. Like we used to. Slam on the gas pedal, and don't stop for anyone.He ran through the red light the same way he ran his fingers through her hair: absentmindedly -- too bad his subconscious never took roll call. He pressed against the curb the same w