I pee out nails and the lightening bolt coming out of my head isn't big enough. When I have this annoying question mark on my shoulder I think I need to go pee or something.
I'm gonna write something SO confusing that you're gonna be peeing out smoke because you're gonna have SUCH a brain fart it'll go to your...Peepee hole.
I felt nothing more than a still, dead sympathy toward the b***h who sat at the edge of her bed. her head began rolling back and forth when she noticed the black suede shoes that strolled up to her. My fingernails cold and my head spinning, nothing confused me more as to why that man followed her home and what he planned on doing next. I squinted my eyes to see anything clearer, but without my glasses I was hopeless. Outside this dirty window were movements without a doubt vague beyond all reason. When i saw a head turn, I ducked beneath the talking Albornia bush who was quite the outspoken homosexual, and i paid no attention.
The night was fresh, and i watched the blue Blagus flying about like it was still daytime. My hand shook from being too long without my glasses. The longer i was away from the glasses, the more my eyes felt like withdrawing and sleeping deep within their own sockets. I felt no longer for staying by this female's house, and i needed my glasses. the night wind was subdued by the summer air that was hot and irritated me like an annoying child with a toy gun. Across the street, i noticed my garage door open with a bright light exploding through and breaking my tired eyes open. I forgot it was a party...The party for that dog whom everyone owed their servitude because he was royalty. They were slaves to the sick flea-bitten mutt who most likely didn't come from the palace of Comme. He sat there with his head held high like a frivolous prince whose maids dress, and chew his food before he swallows. they loved him more than me, and after a while you grow used to the environment of being a life slave, where in the corner you hear the dog snickering. I don't envy him though, it takes a real dauntless being to give up everyday knowledge and wish to be stupid rather than being someone like me who is an over analytical pair of eyes with glasses.
I approached the house silently and stepped into the warm house and noticed the blazing fire. I'd have rather lived outside with the dirty Quabs who bit at your knees and licked at your ears. No friend mattered most to me then, not like I had any, but still. That dumb broad across the street from me always found me by the eyes and held me for a moment, and then she'd smile, turn red, and walk off into her house. The same girl who had a different guy follow her home each night and before i could really see what happened through the window, I was distracted. With the same slapdash attitude as to what happened next, i ambled across the road and stepped into the house and heard the same lecture from the guardians about the house, as to why I leave my things out, and why I'm out all night when I should be here helping with the Mutt who isn't even a real royalty pet! Perhaps the Prince was worse, but whatever the problem I was just a simple pest. A parasite to them who never does a thing, who eats their food, and lives in their house and makes a mess. I survive and they die; Or so I'm told. My solid, stubborn impenetrable being lived on in the dazed of all days and carried on a legacy of the generations before me, except i did it at a more slowed, careless, and half-assed pace. My ancestors had nothing to live for, nothing to strive for, we weren't leaders, and apparently, no one cared. You can't expect me to believe that the poor didn't want more to what their life was. The way they polluted my head with the lies of how my family was proud of who they were. I know for a fact that they gave a s**t less about where they were, they wanted out. No one enjoys living in absolute squalor, hearing of the everyday deaths of poor hygiene. And not only that, but the b*****d of a king refused to care. He over looked them as some sort of animal, and said, "Survival of the fittest". My everyday routine involved thinking about the sick abusive ways of the poor and how I just sat and watched. It's one thing to think about it, and it's a whole-nother thing to actually act on it; in my case, i'd rather sit back and complain like the rest of the pathetic ones around here do. Did I care? Yes, but not enough to get my a** up and do something about it.
Word's been going around about a hero who ride a Wouble with a Snake sword.what difference did it make? there are all sorts of heroes here in this damned kingdom, but not enough to save us all from eternal Damnation; as the old man next door says. I pay not attention to the men, and if you're a feminist, women, who decide they're heroes and jump on horses or some kind of transportation with their weapons and cool shining armor that only the rich could afford.
The exact vagueness of today's world troubled me with all the children running loose and disappearing and the parents who don't ask questions and claim that they're out with their friends. The brainwashed saps who live everyday like it was yesterday, just wasting away,never knowing if beyond these town walls there was really something going on. They've been deprived of their everyday knowledge and simply carry on the same routine by not asking questions, or going to the police. they were perfect people, who didn't cry and looked for the best of things even when their entire family was killed or somehow disappeared in thin air. Anyone out of the situation who asked questions came back the next day with an unusual smile and bright shine to their faces. The useless applications that they wasted time on like if the rug matched their style of life or if coffee would be good to drink. They worried about small things and cared not for anything that should matter most to them. The people who haven't been demonically brainwashed are still too ignorant to open their eyes and see the posture of the town be perfect, or the smiles always out for attack when someone flips them off on the road. We live in a strange kingdom where no one can question the king without being known. It was like there was an underground organization that worked like an ant and quietly walked around with the people. You never knew if someone was a spy, a fly on the wall the listened to your every word. Were they animals? No matter, I didn't have to worry because I had no reason to question the rule of the king unless I was going to do something, I knew very well that I wasn't. I was the last jigsaw piece to the puzzle, and I refused to be put in place unless this dissatisfied feeling left me and my hungry soul would leave me alone and eat already.
You know when you're dying because everything sounds in and out. You constantly hear a ringing like someone is trying to speak to you from "The other side". You can close your eyes and imagine what it's like to e dead easier everyday. I forget what it's like to be happy and how to live like every day is your last. Instead you find one thing that finds your interest and you pursue it. My chips were down but I couldn't throw my diamonds up yet, because there was still something keeping me here. I was here by a thread that I couldn't see. I did not recognize what it was and why it mattered, but it was a always a tragedy when a young'un like me died. One who will always remain in death at the age of seventeen. It didn't matter because you know when you're dying. It's like your eyes want to shut, but when they do, they open up the next second and waste away in the sun who won't allow them to shut. I knew the girl across the street felt the same way. I knew she was dying, and she knew she was dying like me. when you're dying, you can tell when someone else is dying because you just notice the symptoms. the sad, sullen eyes that cry out for something. Her eyes watch the floor like the floor is the most important thing to be watching. Her back is tense and straight and her lips are always drawn downward like a magnet to an intense metal. Oh, I've seen her smile, I see a small twitch upward with the hardest effort. Her face is pale, but her eyes are brighter than a full moon, just as big. I get buried beneath them like a fossil who has been resting under the sediment for thousands of years. My bones are trapped in her eyes and i feel stupid the way I just stand there and stare fighting down the monster in my pants who likes her too.
Enough of this! I snatch up my glasses and ran off, ignoring the drunken slurs about me being pathetic like my father, or the obnoxious laughing. I could give a s**t-less if they called me scum, all I cared about was that I don't become a fat gelatinous fool like they are seeing as I'm the most fit. I hurried on by before they alerted Mistress, the b***h who always threatened me if I didn't give her what she wanted or she's chew me out about never changing my style with my side-slicked hair and proper clothing.. A half-hearted broad whose looks speak for themselves. Whenever I was desperate, I would relieve myself with her image, and whenever she was desperate, she would call me into her room...and well I'm sure you get the jist. I couldn't fight it because if I did they would send me to some bad boy school, but still what boy would want to? Not like she was ugly. But alas, for my well being and gentlemen-ship, I tried my hardest not to enjoy luxuries like these. It wasn't right for me to call myself a gentleman when in fact I would go behind closed doors...All night long...
I ran out the door, and hid silently in the shadows wen I saw the man who followed her home, leave her house as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. He pushed his hair out of his face, and sucked up the fresh air around him viciously. And, as if he hadn't even gone into the house, he strolled off into the moonlight and didn't look back, not even once. I waited until his footsteps were completely gone and all I could hear was the loud party rumbling from across the street. I stepped up to the window and saw her lying there without a shirt or bra on. all she wore were bright pink panties and that was it. her hand slapped onto her ear and slowly she ran her hands through her hair. Staring through this vague dirt covered window made it hard for me to tell if her back had scars or not. Maybe they were tattoos, I couldn't tell, even with my glasses....
TO BE CONTINUED