Grimace, motherfucker.

I want to walk up to you.
And scream in your face.
I want my warm, sharp voice to brush the hair back from your face. 
I want to spit fire.
Grimace, motherfucker.

I want to scream at people with normal brain chemistry.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair that their minds don’t work the way mine does… or should I say that their minds do work and mine doesn’t? That can’t possibly be true, my head is hot with a constant never ending friction of endless thoughts.
How is it that they don’t think the things that I think. How is it that every moment of every day they’re not trying to figure out the quickest way out of the room, out of their head, or out of their own damn skin. Why am I the only one trying to calculate how quickly I can unravel before someone notices and puts me back together?

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