YOU TASTE LIKE SHIT

The dirty girl with the sour face we all think (or thought) was special. That girl who came and went over and over again until she was invited to stay forever. That person we all wanted to believe would be someone great but turned out to be someone fake. You know, the pretend star of the show, the girl who turned out to be a liar, a robot, a shit talker, a sycophant, a shit demon, a nemesis and a failure. Sometimes there are those who we never knew, people who are SO good at being someone else that we think they’re our friends. Those special someone’s who win you over by being witty and clever, who act like they’re so great and know what truth is.
But months go by and finally reality sets in.

She’s a mother fucker, empty and alone.

I never knew that being accepted was so important until this girl proved me wrong. I never knew that wanting to be in a circle of losers could attract this far unknown insect who’s only goal is to suck everyone dry and than leave with a gaping pussy and plenty of new enemies. And that’s what’s happening and is taking place while you give this girl a hug and take a picture with her. Shss a lie.
Under her candy coated mask there is ugliness so disgusting that you would throw up at the sight of it. But you wont see it because she wont EVER let you see the real her. Everything she hates, she IS but you wouldn’t  guess at first, staring into those small eyes like an animal who everyone has beaten on, played with and thrown away. The toy who’s been broken for so long her only thing left is the artificial life of Miss  “I’m so fucking cool with the big words” but you’ll continue to feed her big mouth with Wal Mart pink lipstick.
You’ll let her take you life and leave you with nothing. It’s what you want and what she dreams of. The one who is so pathetic shell change her story for someone new. She’s you’re fantasy friend. The one who loves EVERTTHING you love, who worships ANYTHING you worship and HATES anyone who you HATE (until the ones you hate want her more, then she’s theirs to keep.)

Once you tell everyone the truth, they pretend its ok. They spread the word and when it comes back to her, she’s in danger. FEAR. HATE. RAGE. ANGER. The typical reaction to someone finally seeing that they are NOT very different then the bottom feeding trashcan cunt you told everyone you WERENT, Bet that’s ok too, because her only reply is what the already said but with some added negative adjectives and suddenly she hates YOU. The one she wrote about and worshipped. The one who gave her love when she said she was just a far bitch with no potential.

She IS a cliché.
She’s a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy.
She’s non refundable, ordinary and over hyped.
She’s a self absorbed pig.

Yet you treat her like she’s not disposable.
She’s a void.
Another degraded sellout who will open those legs and let you in.
Welcome home, sweet and ready to pump your vein full of fabricated make believe.

Phony, a plant. A bore and the new town whore. We all know who this is because there’s one in every town, even it they move from state to state, she’s on  the list.
AMERICAS MOST FAKEST.
Fake fake fake fake fake

If you’re stupid enough to play her games and let her win, then you’re nothing better than another clone reject repeat the cycle.
Hollywood will never accept her and that’s all she really wants. Her ratings will go down until she’s sent back home to be fucked by daddy dearest and then what? Another one will come and repeat repeat repeat just another endless cycle until were all dead in the ground. I COULD set her on fire and expose it more and more but after this, she’s not worth it. The front page will be on page 6 in a few months and shell end up a dry womb, the cumdumpsr, ready for another dick to shut her mouth. Shell self destruct soon and there’s only one answer

I told you so

SKIN.EXPOSED

This plastic surgery slumber party trash talk is getting old.

My hair keep falling out and I can't seem to remember why. But maybe after I stop overdosing on myself it will be catatonic.

Come over and strangle me behind a camera lens. Make sure it's filmed, dissected, fixed and infected or NO ONE will like me/you.

Being remembered is the key, right? If that's so important then I better blow myself up to life size proportion and dismantle everything. Take down my self doubt and shove it in a box, cut it up and put it away. It's better that way.

I feel so obsessed with myself that my life is over.
If it's always about you then you have priorities but no friends. Take your pick, dumb down and pretend you're perfect.

It's the same thing over and over again; repetitive until death.

Another burn out that couldnt catch fire. After you've transplanted you're feelings into another monotone, I'd love for you to stop breathing and be honest for a moment. Im asking too much, I know. But maybe if you would step away from the mirror for 5 seconds you would realize you're already falling apart. Things are starting to get worn down while you fix them again and again.

Skin exposed, veins dry, cosmetic breakdown. This isn't life, it's just another way of saying you're a fucking mess.

It's too late, I already know who you are. The same everyday until the time comes when its all been sucked out, stolen and replaced with something new; and this is called beautiful.

INSECURE AND DEAD

Wow, Im so proud of you all, so so fucking ptoud. Good job, you win. I'm old news and you're brand new every time you wake up from the hospital bed.

Pretty forever until its over.

Death caused by caved-in face. I really am proud of you.

So

pretty

always pretty.

15 minutes of "everything is the same" and shamed, famed, glammed and glued together. This is a self portrait because thats all you want. A hand held disaster piece, a robot covered in ersatz emotion. Clone. A pollution Cosmopolitan cover girl, the airbrushed beauty and the flawless liar. Perfect until proven guilty.

I know the truth but your face hasnt been swollen shut with it yet.
Soon.
Just wait.

The greed and need and me me me me me is starting to wear thing on those glossy eyes. Your runny nose makes no sense and i suspect a downfall. A beautyslide, falling further into the shiny plastic ground.

You wont last long.

A casanova bent on suicide through the edge of a scalpel. Scar tissue Botox Queen.
Frozen in place, a brand new face.
Loved for only your tits and that dead vagina you call fun. This is my love song to you.
When your skin starts to crack and you finally give in, remember I loved you before you died inside. Before the poison of your vainaholic life took over, before you screamed "Doctor make me alive". Before you ruined yourself over and over to the point wjere you hated yourself.

This is called loving yourself for who you are.

I call it fucking disgusting.

Please stop undressing yourself on TV before you fall over. The drugs will do that. They age you before you can stop. You're ancient and so are all your friends.

Its not strip clubs and unprotected sex. Its bingo and wheel chairs.
Pills to change what the other pills changed.
Fix fix fix fix fix.

Are you ready to tell the truth?

One size fits you perfectly just like everyone else. Sell out. Fake.
You fucking cunt. whats wrong with you?
Stand up, smile for the camera and act like you feel good inside. Be my princess with the silicone self esteem and the big breasts. Be my good girl or you'll regret it after its over.

My beauty dream pink queen is starting to wilt around the edges.
Dying.

Hold her down. Strap her to the bed. get the needles and start pumping her full of happiness and hate hate hate. Its not working anymore. Use more. Kill more. Fake more. Lie some more.
Now now now

A corpse.
A girl.
This is what America stands for.
This is what is called a strong woman.

A fucking whore who has no self respect.
Rejected, naked and ugly.

You promote this every day by selling yourself, buying the products and reducing yourself to nothing but another trashbag-magazine-supersaved-slut.

And I love you for it.

Oh, I do.

Thank you America, you make me strong.