shriked forever
content warning: foul language
i got a real whizzbang psychologist. he is always bemused and smiling. he disapproves of everything i say and do. he is always raising his eyebrow. today i said enough. whenever i stop and think and do what i think is right, it turns out to be wrong and whenever i don’t stop and think and do without thinking, that is even more wrong and whenever i decide to abstain from doing anything at all, that is the wrongest thing of all. “its not a matter of doing whats right,” he says. “its about doing what is best.” you really think i know for myself what is best? no. what they say about me is true: i am a spaz spac sped fuckwit retard cunt and i cant see any way forward except what the bin bag affords. the psychologist slowly stretches out his mouth. i keep telling him more and more bad words. the mouth continues to stretch, going from elmer fudd to the elasticity of the cartoon grinch. he blinks, then widens his eyes, closes them, shakes his head and shrivels his mouth back together. “okay” he says, sitting up straight in his chair. “maybe suicide is not the best idea, and maybe” he says again “that that is not the best way to talk to oneself.” i see the right thing disappear. behind it is nothing. nothing but nothing. shriked, i say to myself. shriked again. shriked, again, forever everlasting, shriked, every fucken time.