Go fuck yourself.

I have swallowed so many spiders for you and held onto so many unspoken words without judgement.  I will continue to keep them festering there, but for you to spit venom and claw out with multiple points of criticism like 8 scratching legs in my throat, I dare say you are inviting me to vomit out nasty secrets. I'll keep them still, I will not condem you when you have trusted me with your shame, because that's what is the right thing to do even if you can't do it for me. Judge if you will, but remember me for accepting you. My livid rage will nurse the egg nest in my esophogus while you don't even bother trying to incubate my demons, and let them run free with your nose in the air. Hell has a place for me, surely, but there is an even darker one for you, for I know your sins and so does the devil.

O, Baby, I'm postive.

Purse tracking persistence and fluctuating levels have never been half this frightening and twice this exciting and the clamour of it has woken me up as though I've been dead for years.