Blood beats on blood while blood sits by and watches and yes he's a wayward child but he'll grow out of it and meanwhile you're in hell, you're all hell and you're just sitting there watching why the fuck are you watching there's soot and smoke and ash boiling out of your beloved blood's mouth and you all just sit and watch as he melts away before you why the hell, why, why.
It's all about the money these days they say but why the fuck would you have any money you insignificant peasant you can't hold a job you can't hold a life down you can't even stay in the right fucking place when you need to be there for somebody else I've never been all that convinced, really, although I do my best to keep abreast of that situation.
It's just a rain of salt through your fingers but don't lick it, you see, you'll taint the purity of the drink, because this is high class stuff, you know, not like that orange shit that you buy in bottles at your local supermarket and the streets are so fucking quiet that a rustling in the bushes will send you flying out of your skin, because this place is so hostile that the only noises you hear have to belong to something that wants you dead so you just have a sip of this, my brother, and you'll be feeling alright after that.
But you're back, that's what matters. You're back and we can all be together again because after all we're a little family, aren't we, just a little family, a clan, a brood, a FUCKING BLOODLINE and everything spirals, doesn't it, everything in on itself until you're quiet and shut in and surrounded by those that care about you and their hands reach up towards you and you have to suppress the urge to spit because it reminds you of home and home is sick and wrong.
Maybe something nice will happen.
Why the fuck won't something nice happen?
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