Wooden nickles at the altar of SIN

If I had a nickle for every time I received an empty threat, I’d be sitting on a mountain of gold.  It’s all “We are going to destroy Sin Jones”, “We will destroy ToSNA”, “The war ain’t over until we take down Poison Apple Radio“…

It makes me laugh, seriously?  Get a hold of yourselves people, you can’t destroy me, and I’m not going anywhere.  Who the fuck are you anyway but an internet character who feels threatened?  These weak-minded people are terrorized by the notion that there are people in the world that live life on their own terms, answer to no authority, and paint the town red.

You got religious baggage?  Awesome, carry that shit for the rest of your days like a good little laborer.   Your complaints fall on deaf-ears, the only real audience you have are your fellow commiserates.  Misery sure does love company.  Hold them tightly like a babe in the night.  Suck your pillow case hard, you and your fright.

What stops YOU from living on your own terms?  Where are you leaving your mark?  Keep leaving your token offerings in my inbox, thanks for stopping by my temple of worship.  You pay me homage with every message.  You lack dignity and pride and your wooden nickles are nothing but fool’s gold.   Perhaps you should keep them, frame them and put them on your own altar next to your welfare check, and shiny good guy badge of the proletariat.  Such a good little laborer, rub it hard like that Geenie’s lamp, maybe all your hopes and dreams will come true.

Better yet, mail me and ear and confess your undying love.  At least thatwould be worth something, better than these empty threats you issue for your inept audience of woe.  Keeping lying to yourself, maybe it will make you famous.  Your celebrity will be the only thing you leave behind.  Scandal!  Sensationalism!  All the while riding the coat tails of others claiming your victories.  Keep dropping my name like some valuable conquest you’ve embarked upon, your lack of self-worth is telling of your aptitude and glorifying me as a celebrity tells me how you see the world.

Rose-colored glasses tinted with your own blood exacted by self-immolation.  What a vile creature you are, the image of your demons burns through the mirror and burns your very soul.

Mirror Mirror on the wall…

Who is the fairest of them all?

It whispers my name in your head, and nothing for you but dread.  I’ll be your dark man, your shadow warrior and I’ll keep your soul in my jar, you can run and hide, but I’ll not be far…




Sin Jones


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