I’m like that kid from Harold and Maude, except I’m not into older women.
Neither am I into younger women. I’m actually not too sure if I’m into women at all.
Well, I’ve never been with one. How would I know?
Trying would seem like a good proposition.
Anyways, I guess I’ve stayed away from women because of my mother. She’s like Harold’s mother. She couldn’t care less if I died. The cops may show up one day and tell her about my death, and she probably would stage some sort of dramatical, pitiful act, but I assure you it’s all part her show.
The thing is, unlike Harold, I am a somewhat of a coward. At least he has the nerve to try it.
Whether it was with rope, gun, knife.
All I can think of is hurting others, never myself. Hell, I couldn’t even try.
Tempting ideas wander through my mind, darkening my soul more and more. And I am afraid I like it a little too much.
Some day I might just spaz out.
What would it be like to suffocate one with a plastic bag?
Or push someone of a cliff?
Maybe run someone over first fast and then slow, and then again fast and then slow.
The sound of crushing bones.
The helpless scream.
Those stupid, useless pleads.
The smell of fresh blood.
Maybe I’m more of a Norman Bates though. He too had girl problems.
I think I’m worse.
But I’m more upfront about my madness, like Harold. But Harold was suicidal, not crazy.
Norman smiles in your face but then stabs in you in the back. Yes, he knows how to be sneaky, but that’s not how I am.
I give you the look of death from the start. So if you don’t take that as a warning that’s not my fault.
Don’t be asking for forgiveness once I strangle your useless heart.
Cause at this point, I’m ready to spaz out.
I’m ready to let it all out.
Films I make references to:
Harold and Maude (1971)