sukha001
Promise me that you'll be here when the sun rises in the morning. Promise me that when the storm comes, you will help me hide under the blankets. Promise me that the sun will rise purple and the storm will rain confetti, and I'll believe you. Because what you promise, you do, and I trust you because it's from you.
Humans are the ones that came up with every word, every idea that I could possibly write here. And amongst those was this word "must". And I'm sick of it. Must and his gang of aggressive and similarly obtrusive synonyms are too large a part of my life. It seems like everyday I am living and getting up and doing the things I do, not because I want to do them, but just because I must.
Porter, don't know what it means. Until now. It means trudging across long stretches of land carrying large loads of CRAP. I currently have a canoe on my head, like some malignamated bird beak. Gotta love summer with the Pops.
Want, and Greed. Lust, and attraction. Hunger, and Gluttony. Where do we draw the line between what's normal and what is Sin? It's always been a gray area for me, so has the spelling of that word: gray and grey. But more on that later...
The data banks of my brain were at a deficit. It was a recession of massive proportions. The surrounding brain cells would tell of the catastrophe for decades to come while the outer world suffered the repercussions: utter, dumb silence. Yeah, Laina never really tried to talk to me again. I wouldn't have either.
But I did, I talked, all the time. I talked to myself. My pencils, desks, the doors in my room. Never teddy bears or anything with eyes though, that was just weird. I practiced my abyssal social serenades on the tone deaf ears of inanimate objects. And slowly, but surely, I learned to communicate without the usual epic fail.
There are so many concepts in my brain
A jungle in there but none of them are tame
They fight and they claw and they strive for my attention
But in the end. none of them get mentioned
Because they're too wild
Too barbaric and untrimmed
They're chances in the real world are none to slim
They'll be laughed at and ridiculed
Besides, the best ones are minuscule
And fleeting
Like a rare bird in the foliage
Gone before I can examine its wings
"Commemorating the thirtieth centurion of the approval of the Casadavit's Bill of Thievery, we present to you: The next PRINCE OF THIEVES." It was me, me, the prince of thieves. Ridiculous that a gang of thieves would be holding a ceremony. Ridiculous that the very microphone Razel was orating into was stolen from Gilligan's City. But even more ridiculous that I, the new Prince of Thieves, was actually of royal blood. And, to be more specific, a princESS.
Banners, craning heads striving to see. All their manners were lost in the crowd as they clambered to see the one who now held the crown. They were ants beneath his feet. Really, they could struggle and claw like animals. Because now, with a new king on the the throne, they had no choice. Legent, as kind as a rabid dog but as intelligent as an alpha wolf. This was going to be a bad semester at King's Cross.
One's manners define who they are. But sometimes, you have to screw the manners. Screw the pleases and thank you's. You just have to climb over the table, splash the fancy suited guests with the overpriced wine and grab whatever it is you're after. Because life is built on passion. Not pleases.
writing since 2012 · 14 entries · 13 days shown up
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