scubydum
Worn. Torn. Beaten and tattered. Being physically accosted by my girlfriend's ex-boyfriend two nights a week did not leave my love for her any more tarnished than it originally stood. In fact, my resolve to be with her was that much stronger that I began taking martial arts classes.
"I've got it! 'And I can't get up!' That's the closer. It has punch. It has emphasis. It has moxie!"
The end. It was supposed to protect me. As my blood seeps through my shirt and down my jacket into the graveled grooves of the asphalt. The Bible has failed me, yet again.
I can't get up early enough in the morning. Sun shoots through the blinds, hits me square in the eyes and I still slip back into sleep. There is no reason to get up for there is no job or wife waiting on any longer.
My dating history is that of legend. It gets me any number of women predicated on its own mythological existence. It's a shame that none of it is true.
Alannah Myles was laying over the jukebox. It was the strangest feeling, as if I had been here before. Then I saw her walk by. My Julia. I hadn't seen her in over six years. The main reason being that she was dead. She drowned off of the coast of Maine when she was on a boating vacation with her family. By the time she died, we had been dating for two years.
She looks so young. How was she here? Where the hell was I? Why does the calendar read '1991'?
The matching blouses on the toddler sisters were beyond nauseating. I know that pictures exist where my mother dressed me and my brother up in matching outfits when we were two years and five years old respectively, but seriously, how lazy can a parent get?
High. I am so high. So high strung. That's the term that I use to refer to my condition when I am practicing on my guitar. Smoke a decent-sized joint and play away. The one man jam session.
"It's not brain science, you fucking yokel."
My hatred for Agent Williams was unexplainable. Big time agent, flashing some badge from some fake agency that I've never heard of is going to come in and crash MY crime scene? I don't think so. This massacre is mine.
It's not about the income. The car bears little weight. It's the suit which draws prestige to the individual. No longer, though, can we use the expression, 'the clothes make the man'. A smart pant suite on a woman will go just as far.
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writing since 2010 · 15 entries · 15 days shown up
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