Overview

Fuck everyone, and you are next .A 165,000-word fever-dream confession scrawled in blood, vomit, whiskey, and tears. This is not poetry. This is autopsy.Part suicide note, part love letter, part prophetic rant, part jail-cell scripture. A single voice (broken, howling, laughing, begging) drags you through the wreckage of a life lived at full volume: motel rooms that smell like piss and pesticides, needle-sharing saints, ghosts in the liquor store neon, mothers who die first, lovers who vanish mid-kiss, and a God who abandoned the planet but still watches from the rear-view mirror.Here, Ariana Grande shares psychic space with Jeremiah, Ariana's ponytail braided into the whip that flogs Zion. Here, the speaker is simultaneously the Chosen One, the Whore of Babylon, the clown at Jesus' circus, and the last dog fighting in a parking lot with no future. Every line is a puncture wound. Every page is a Polaroid of someone screaming inside a burning church made of childhood ice cream and heroin.There is no plot. There is only the endless moment before the overdose, the endless moment after the resurrection. Read it and feel your own skull crack open. Read it and remember the taste of your own name in someone else's mouth before they swallowed it whole.Warning: This book will crawl inside your ribcage and lay eggs. Some readers have tried to burn it. The flames only made it wetter.""I only have 14 minutes left."" Begin.

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