The face I wear is just one of many I've worn over many years. Another mask for another mood. Another shield for another set of untruthful eyes. Just another day hiding my emotions behind another mask. I can't tell the truth. They'd be disgusted. Yeah, I hate it. So what? What the fuck does it matter? I'm nothing to everybody, everybody to nothing. I can dance around and drink, and party, and use who I want, because they'll never know. They'll never know my fucking mind. Of course, why would they want to? I'd probably just scar the young ones, and lose my place. Shit. What the hell do you call this? No future, no past, and a fucking weak excuse for the present. I can't be helped. No one can help me. And I don't care. I DON'T CARE! Honestly, I don't care! It doesn't matter, I don't matter, my whole life is a fucking joke anyway....
So I lie.
And I lie.
And I lie.
The blood on my hands is quite disgusting. I feel that it soils my body and soul. ~snort~ Soul... yeah right. I've killed more than a soldier in their right mind would dare to brag. I've killed children and women, and innocents. I've strangled them lifeless with my bare hands, shot their very brains out of their very fucking heads while I laughed at the blood spurting unceremoniously onto the ground. I've licked my lips after being splattered by that red shit. Shit that'll never come out of my hands and hair. I can smell it all over me. It's my job. This is expected. Love it, or lose to it, right? Yeah... So I killed a few fucking people. Does this really matter? So I've turned countless vibrant eyes dead and dark. I've extinguished that damn flame that likes to torment me. I can't have it. Nobody matters. Why should I care? I don't of course. I DON'T CARE! Honestly, I don't care! It doesn't matter, my whole life is a fucking joke anyway...
So I kill.
And I kill.
And I kill.
I flirt and I tease. A womanizer, a user, a complete prick with nothing but my fucking dick on my mind. Sure. Yeah... that's right. I dress up, I put on my expensive cologne, and I dance, drink and screw the night away. I take women, am taken by men. I wake up to new 'love' every day. New arms, new smells, new cheap fucking perfume. I use, and I hurt, and I do it because I need distraction. Yeah, just distraction. I only want to have fun. I need to get my mind off... work. Just work. So I go and pick up the next sexy thing I can find, convince them I'm the sexiest they've ever found, and we have a night. A night of what? Love. Yeah right. A night of two bodies sliding against each other in the heat of nameless, faceless, shameless passion. The best way to relieve stress you know. Empty promises. Empty glasses. Cigarettes and cheap liquor. I just want to have some fucking fun! I only need some fucking release. I only want a good lay once and a while. No one to care for... I DON'T CARE! Honestly, I don't care! It doesn't matter, my whole life is a fucking joke anyway...
So I fuck.
And I fuck.
And I fuck.
I want to relate to someone. Like that'll ever happen. I want to be me, and I want to tell people that. I want someone to run their damn fingers through my fucking hair and fucking mean it. I want someone to tell me they love me, because I'm cold. Where does this come from? So what?! I want a hug. Ooohh... big thing to ask, huh? Oh, sorry? Too busy... I didn't see that one coming.. Didn't expect that. Just like my whole fucking life!!! Two pathetic adolescents and a cold-hearted fucker for friends. Friends?? Must I delude myself now?? Sure, why not. I am me. I wear the mask. I drink, I smoke, I toke, and I take and take. I don't deserve to be given too. Just because I want it. Just because I haven't ever had it. I've never needed anything!! What the hell do I care?? I DON'T CARE! Honestly, I don't care! It doesn't matter, my whole life is a fucking joke anyway...
So I hurt.
And I hurt.
And I hurt.
I have no soul. I can't. I've killed too much, seen too much, taken too much. I don't care anymore... Maybe, maybe next time... maybe next time I can make a mistake... Accidentally fall into the line of fire. Maybe, I could force myself to finally summon that red sticky fluid from myself. From these white wrists. Maybe, just maybe... I could end it. And no one would be suffering, I would no longer be that cause... I could live another life... they could get on with theirs... Who the hell cares anyway?? No one cares if I drink myself to death, whether I'm used or abused, whether I'm happy, or living in a fucking hole. No one cares about my life. Why should I? I don't of course... There's nothing left, so I don't fucking give a shit anymore. I hate this. I hate me. I hate life. So, no, I don't care. I HONESTLY AND TRULY DON'T FUCKING CARE. And... It doesn't matter... because my whole life is a fucking joke anyway...
So... I am Yohji.
And I die...
And I die...
And I die...
Damn it. It won't come.
~owari~