goldensundude
A motley crew of merry men can only be made by excluding the unmerry and plain.
As the spikes on the monitor became shallow and chaotic, I looked to the fluorescent lights above me one final time. I thought that if I just watched them flicker with the utmost resolve; never blinking, never wavering, then perhaps my heart would spike with the same fire and life as the electric hum coursing through that light's veins. The question was never what I would die for, it was what I wouldn't give to live.
As her words dripped from her lips like velvet sheets along my skin, I shuddered to think what my words tasted like. My words bitter and terse; I did not deserve such eloquence.
As her words dripped from her lips like velvet sheets along my skin, I shuddered to think what the words tasted like. Bitter and terse, I did not deserve such eloquence.
As I waltz from triviality to triviality, I find my elegant walk through day to day life disturbingly and expertly dull. If only I'd learned to swing when I was young.
I couldn't help but find him revolting. His posture lax, his hair dripping with grease and putrescence; all I could see was a homeless puppy, his pathos his only redeeming quality. The pity he inspired a trap for the unsuspecting, I fell for him. Those days with him are years past now, but I still struggle with one final question. Who's more revolting: the man who made the trap or the woman who fell into it?
Without my father telling me who to be and where to go, I'm lost in a sea of midlife crises and fudge ice cream. We all knew he had to leave this world sometime, but one can never fully anticipate the shock, the anger, and the fear that follows. I miss him.
I wash my hands and wash my hands and wash my hands. I'd stop if they'd let me, but that would be too easy. It must be done just right. Below the right knuckle, then inbetween the right pinky and right ring finger, then above the left middle finger. Wait, or was it the left pointer finger? Oh well, here we go again...