He slides it into your eye, the paperclip.
You ask him why.
You think it's an act of barbarism.
It's anything but.
You see more with this metal in your eye than you ever used to.
Is that ironic?
Irony.is.for.cunts.
Is that ironic?
I don't know, any more.
As my eyes cloud over in red, I see more.
I see a desperate lyricist, deriving his meaning from acts of ultraviolence.
I see a big, swollen metaphor. Bursting with just how shit it is.
I vomit.
I vomit because vomiting is a base and emotive thing to do.
This time I actually vomit.
It tastes of the carrot I just ate.
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