What if this was the best day of your life? Gone without you knowing in the blink of vandal eyes? Knife in hand, caution to the wind. Prowl, mauraude, slash tires, unhinge. In a cold vein world without a pulse, you’ve got to plunge the knife. Keep stabbing. Drain the blood and spill the guts… Drain my Goodyears, drain them of their life. Slash. Don’t think twice. Never once look back. Leave your stain and plunge the knife. Late for work, at a dead-end in the road. A puncture. A wound. A blessing à la mode. In a cold vein world without a pulse, you’ve got to plunge the knife. Keep stabbing. Drain the blood and eat the flesh. Sink deep your teeth and dine all through the night. Drain the blood. Spill the guts. Then plunge the knife straight into the heart of my safe little life. Of my sacred routine. I’m jealous of boys who trade day jobs for midnights and rage through the night without remorse or hindsight. But I’m a coward. I’ve slackened my spine. Pay my bills, go to school, get a job, fall in line. But I want to drink all the blood. And I want to eat all the flesh. And I want to spill all the guts. You slashed through my tire but punctured my chest.
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