Spitting at The Wall

The day I fish for sympathy is the day Satan surfaces from Hell and I punch him in the throat.

The day someone puts a gun to my head and says, “Do what I say or I’ll shoot,” I’ll be dead.

What I mean really is I will have a scuba knife to the jugular over a pat on my back, any day.

What fiction means really is I means no-one yet anyone and what is never happens but does.

What it means really is that I will do whatever the fuck I want to whenever a fuck I may want.

The day I walk off that cliff not knowing I will fall to my death laughing and land on the Devil.

And when I land on the devil, I will be in Hell not the surface, so I will punch him in the throat.

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