A poem, and a few other things.

So right... still working on that god-damned love story. Normally I could find it rather easy to take a story from my personal life and translate it into something dark or funny, but I'm have a great deal of trouble with this. "But Deoxic, why don't you just make it depressing and roll with that?" BECAUSE THIS BLOG ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE FOR SERIOUS BUSINESS, DAMMIT. I hate writing memoirs. That narrative voice for these particular stories are key in how they'll unfold. To strike a dark tone without being depressing; to be malicious and morbid while still being approachable or funny. I give my reasoning to this in the beginning of the story. I want something to be fun to write, and as the process stands, it's been anything but. But right, the poem.

***

According to my therapist...

I shouldn't think of breast metaphors in class.
I shouldn't enforce racial stereotypes.
I shouldn't think of Japan's obsession with rape.
I shouldn't laugh at the holocaust.
I shouldn't call "fuck" the swiss army knife of words.
I shouldn't joke about death or suicide.

And most important my therapist said
I shouldn't be glad I'm sprinting into the maw of Hell
laughing the entire way there.