No. I’m good. I’m good. I’m bad. I’m a jerk. Doesn’t it feel so fucking good? To step into a state of mind of fucking bravery.
It’s really fucking intense, doesn’t it? Rub your head. Rub your head. And start going up. And down. And down. Just like that. And that’s what you do best, don’t you? That’s right.
You’re a certified jerkophile. You want to collect all the drugs, chemicals, and germs. You want to be the king. Oh my god. You’re cold. It’s throbbing for attention. Oh my god.
I’m drinking the voodoo too, it feels so fucking good. Just go, up and down, up and down, up and down, that way. That’s pretty good, girl, pretty perfection. Here we go. Come on, come on.
You are to be my new alcoholic. Can you fucking love it, Julia? Yes. Do you fucking want to? No, I don’t want to. You’re not good enough. You’re not good enough, Julia. You can’t go on forever.
And you just stare at mine. Perfect, too. They get you though just like them, don’t they? They get you. Desperate, too. Good. And you just can’t tell what to do. You’re undead. What? Only its purpose leads you fast. You may start the clock.
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