She speaks, the tones of the heavens reflecting and reverberating throughout the now hollow cavern where my
mind once sat. her eyes penetrate straight through my skull, like the final mercy kill shot from a hunters rifle. as if it were truly necessary, the stare continues for what seems like an eternity, until I am no longer a man, no longer of flesh and bone, but now a mere figment of her imagination, some small rubber band that she twiddles in her fingers, or uses to hold her hair up when she gets out of the shower. Warm, wet, and steaming, its this very stare that crushes the being of every mere mortal that gets caught in it for too long, and by now, it not only has destroyed all of the softer tissues of my being, but sets forth to crush even the hardest of boney matter in me. The words used to describe her are pathetic at best, the tip of an iceberg so massive and overbearing that ten million Titanics would sooner be crushed and sunk to the depths of my soul before I could think of something merely adequate to say. And then, as soon as she turns to leave, my mind and everything tangible in me reappears, as if it were never gone. But it is too late, far too retarded to be of any use. My mouth slightly mumbles, without a sound, like the lip of an ancient man who cannot utter a sound. Too much tobacco has silenced him, and now his lip quivers. Quivers and quells exactly the way my entire body does when I realize what I let pass me by.
My Turn Offs:
Yelling loudly over all the other patrons of this same restaurant of life, she rationalizes that if she cannot be the most interesting, or most intelligent, she can at least be so overbearing and eardrum splitting that at least she can drown out the words and maybe even the thoughts of the many who are better than she. she takes a drag or a shot between every freight train of sound that pours from her coffee stained rot of a grill, a cowcatcher, the rusted iron still standing somehow, after all the abuse it has been put through. Or isnt it self abuse, considering the amount of torture this woman has forced her body to endure, that one thing she should hold sacred above all. Yet she thinks that it is something to be bought and sold, traded, or bartered to whomever she can pawn it off to. She thinks that with each time she does this that she gains. Truly instead of adding it all up at the end of the day, she is actually subtracting this from the being she should be, or at the very least could have been. And not potential, a word such as that is a pittance when compared to all that she has given up in this callow attempt to be noticed. The proof is in the pudding. Are you?
Where I Want to Be:
The Transformers
Optimus Prime
Soundwave
Bumblebee
Shockwave
Lil Brother
BJ
Running Crew
Sega Benesis
Theodore Smythe
Frosted Blakes
Hopie
Skippy
Briangle
John Paul
The Hunt for Red Miketober
Baton Rouge Crew
marcos.. the freshmaker
Tits Mcgee
Deneezy
Bandana Face
Bird
Mr. Fabulous
The Running Man
The Idolist
Shockerella
Red Jen
Ash
Nikki
The Bourg
Affiliations
5 Minute Oil Gang
Eight Bit Anatomy
TONE
Leprechaun Leprechaun
Everybody Else