blahblahchoi
His anger was from his fear. His hatred was armor to his heart. She walked through it time and time again. He never loved another like he did. He'll never like he has ever again.
It was a dreary Monday morning. Rain giving gray to the skies, hiding the sun behind clouds...
I let her enter my mind, stuck in it like an image that lingers in yours eyes after a flash of light in pitch black darkness. What she would augment has changed me greatly in the last week. Feigning her and pining for her interest.
I fucking can't believe this. After years of meditation, learning my body to control it better, I stood there, lacking the willpower to resist what I've tried to refrain for doing: I masturbated with mayonnaise again.
After an arduous walk through the busy streets of a large city I was unused to, I got home to see that a bump I had in with some angry pedestrians had left all my eggs cracked. The yolk leaked out and congealed over the rest of my groceries.
I couldn't breathe. I held his arm tight against me. I pulled hard, trapping his shoulder between my legs. Seeing his other arm reaching for the gun on the ground, hearing my kid scream, I just yanked the shit out of it till it snapped. And I heard him yell. He grimaced. And I rolled around to grab the gun.
I'm terrible at algebra. Why does it even exist in the common world above, say shop class, where you can learn to change your oil? That seems more necessary for my life than figuring out the angle to throw a ball over the house to hit something square on. Even with legit calculations, it'd be hard for me to throw it with the proper velocity. plus, there's calculators everywhere.
The monitor scanned the alien hidden within me. I had caught it crawling inside me, trying to push up towards my skull. I tied it around and kept it away. It never made it, but it affected me. I became like it. In my head, it says, "Kill." In my head, I yell "Shut up."
And now this toned-up muther fucker, thinking he can all get all gain and no pain from me didn't realize that I'm a equal-opportunity fighter. He's bigger. I'm smaller. I grabbed a decent-sized bar stool...
When i was younger, I had a mighty might. I was hardheaded. My feet didn't stink as much. My muscles wouldn't cramp. My drinking didn't affect me as badly. These days, the only mighty thing is the looming sentiment of regret.
She asked to me to perform for her. I didn't know what to say. So I made a bunch of silly noises and faces; I danced around like a marionette with my arms jagged and legs flopping. None of this worked. She still had cancer. I still didn't know how to make her laugh. But we still enjoyed each other...
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