It's the calming before the storm, alcohol sits nicely in your stomach warm.
Another morning in Hell. I don't mean actual Hell, like with Satan and demons (Kenny says that Heaven is worse), I mean the physical and emotional Hell; South Park. I take a big swig from the bottle of vodka I have under my bed, and get out of bed quietly, so I don't get grounded.
When you wake up hungover, you wish you were sober.
My head hurts like a motherfucker, I really shouldn't drink like I do, but I take what I can to get away from my life.
I've danced with the devil and dreamed with the demons, fell asleep with death then fell short of breath.
Ever since I was diagnosed with the Multiple Personality Disorder bullshit, my "friends" have started to come more often and with harder hits. Marjorine, I can almost normally deal with, she isn't the problem; Professor Chaos is the problem. He comes and I'm not in control anymore, sometimes I wonder if I'm possessed. Sometimes I wonder if Butters was even there to begin with.
Just be pretty but naïve, anything you hear is what you believe. Let the rhyme get stuck in your head, wish you had undressed me in your head.
I take more vodka and prepare myself. Sweet 'ol Butters needs to look as innocent as possible, as always. I wish I was treated better, but because of my younger years, people wouldn't let me grow up mentally with them, I had to stay with a third grade view of the world. I was the shining beacon of hope in humanity for my classmates and the rest of the town. Any chance I had for adulthood, I had to shoot it down, just for everybody else's sake.
It's the low before the high. It's been so long you thought you would die.
I'm hoping that one day, just one day, I'll be able to experience everything that my peers have-sex, love, relationships-that sort of thing. But, everybody just pegged me as asexual, oh, how wrong they are. Maybe they would know that I beat off to gay porn every night if they saw, but I'm not too into voyeurism. The lack of life just adds to the amount of blood I cut from myself after school every day.
And I'll be counting the days that the sun goes past with the clouds beneath my feet.
Two more years and I'll be gone. I'll leave the demons and tormentors in this Hell-hole. Chaos, Eric, my parents, Kenny, Stan, Token, Clyde, and so on….All gone…
We've been falling apart, built to crumble from the start.
Since pre-school, no one has liked me. At all. That first day started a cycle; get bullied, get grounded, get bullied, get grounded, on and on and on…Everyday on to present day. I go to church so, what did I do to deserve Hell?
I'm a cold metal machine and I'll do things you've never seen.
Maybe it's all Chaos' fault, about how I became. Walking around in the dead of night, drunk with a bottle of vodka, a knife, and matches, maybe it was just Chaos. Maybe Butters had nothing to do with Eric's house burning down, or Stan getting mugged and stabbed, or Kyle being "missing" for that week in sophmore year. Maybe it was Chaos who tried to kill them; maybe it was Butters who saved them.
And what they don't tell you in church is: Saints are sinners too.
So, I sit here in the church pews, listening to Priest Maxi praising me for my community service in front of the congregation. They all applaud me like a saint to the community, but I can't help but wonder:
Do they know that saints are sinners?