Biscuits

i need to talk myself out of wanting fancy things...
because the beggar's on his last biscuit, and i've still got all mine...
except they're all half gone...
there is nothing more daring than living on the edge of the end...
i wish i could mail myself to somewhere that gave a fuck...
but the score is still uneven and i'm still lacking points...
i'll be optimistic if only i'm given the opportunity...
i still haven't found the treasure my heart seeks and i fear it's because i'm terrible at taking directions...
my father will die before i find the love i need in a cold man's heart...
choke...choke, baby...choke on those words...
but i...
deserve to hurt...
inflict yourself on me before i change my mind...
you'll be just another scar on my skin like a trophy hanging on a wall...
hurt me...
hurt me...
but i will hold him close and breathe him in, as i did my father...
except that he...
will not let go of me in vain...
and he...
will not remind me that i was an accident...
he will tell me that i am wanted, and won't mention that i am just like my mother...
and if he does...
it won't be a bad thing...
this could have been my uprising...
this could be the revolution of my humanity i've been searching for...
but then i look down and see...
i've still only got...

half my biscuits left.