Never Again, except this time.

“And so tonight,” he cries from his weary slant across an African patterned futon, “we write!”

Ah, the biting poisoned knife of “Every Rose has its Thorns.” See my wordplay there? Only the few, I suppose, all the sadder. Allow me to elaborate, with, since I can think of no better, an example from the aforementioned.
     And well I heard you found somebody new,
     And that I never meant that much to you,
     Well to hear that hurts me deep inside,
     And to see you cuts me like a knife

Yes, fascinating shit isn’t it. That’s the eighties for you. But it rings hard really, especially if you can sing it like W.Axl Rose could.

I hate it, I HATE it, I really, really hate it. Out of the fucking blue. People you don’t need, things you shouldn’t think, suddenly all those words you wanted to say, or promised you’d repress, it’s all one big clusterfuck again. Let’s not get on the ride again mummy, it WAS too scary for me, you were right.
I don’t want to see myself from above one more time, because you have to be honest about what you see when it’s a big picture. You can’t lie about the really large pictures, we’re not talking 2x2 meters either. We’re talking 100 years wide. And I can see it already, rolling back under my retina as I lurch away from the laptop screen.
It’s too late, I’m back in the loop. There’s no way off the rollercoaster once that little padded lock shunts down.
I’m really rightly in for it.

Fuck you. I love you. Goodbye.