completely, alone.

and it hits me.
just how worthless i am to you.
the words you spew from your mouth to my ears
are poison.
you call me your son, but one does not treat his flesh and blood as thus.
you speak of respect,
and of love,
and of this thing called family, well i have news for you, you fucker, FAMILY DOESNT TREAT EACHOTHER LIKE THIS!
so call me what you will, but make sure from now on that it is NOT son.

i want you to crawl into a fucking ditch and die.
you want me to leave so that your marriage can flourish, fine, i will leave, but when i do i will take your marriage with me until i get what you owe me.



[yesterday my dad told me that his wife hates me for the way that i treat her and that if i dont leave then she is going to leave my dad....
he told me to leave
so much for family.]

fuck it. fuck it all.

you think this is easy?
i have reached it.
point A
never quite got to B
near it
i could smell it
almost taste it
it was right there on the horizon.
but its dissapeared again
from sight,
from taste,
from sense.
there is another place i could go,
point C
but i wouldnt like it there.
which leads me to point Z
and ultimately the end as we know it of James Scott Brulotte,
the death of a sycophant.
the rebirth of something greater and unknown.
a man.
a man forged of iron will and free spirit,
not by women, rules, habits, or television.
a leader,
yet, a loner
i am tired of people and their bullshit.
kill me of it
erase it all
i want nothing to do with it
any of it
and so the next time you see this body...
it wont be the person your eyes see.