If I die before I write, think only this of me: I’d rather fucking snuff it now than live to one-oh-three.
If I write before I die may all my stuff be good; with character and twists and spatter, spit and cum and blood.
If I die before I die and end up motionless, just give me bastards,
cunts and twats and I’ll not be distressed.
But if words die before I do then watch as I unwrite. All ugly words
breed poetry, such beauty in their shite.