Breathe Deep
I'm tired of this narrative that accompanies my life. Like my mind is trying to make every single second more romantic than it is. I'm pissed, simple as that. My Blackberry's busted and I'm disconnected from the world. I hate the cold rain that fills my shoes. I hate how my glasses sit crooked and irritate my nose. I'm ashamed that I find the company of prostitutes exhilarating. Standing at red lights I like it when they're there. They are beautiful in my neighborhood, but I can't talk to them. I've been conditioned; everything I can think of has taught me that they are bad. Yet as I admire their long legs wrapped in shiny pleather, and how their clothes cling to their delicious frame, I’m curious. I feel pity, I feel remorse. I want to ask them to walk with me and keep me company past the scary open spaces on the way home. But can't lift my head to meet there eyes.Is it perhaps that I have more to be ashamed about than they do and I’m worried that they will judge me? I’ve never been good at accepting criticism.
posted by El Chupacabra @ 12:28 AM
3 Comments:
okay that is a sad blog, but i never wanna see you sad, bring back the happy you, the one that starts each convo with a "so something happened to me today.... " and then ure nervous laughter! wat will make u happy again? dinner? movie? snakes on a plane?
Why don't we plant a mechanic virus and erase the memory of the machines that maintain this capatilist dynasty?
It's ok, El bounces
what time do you go out to the corner and whore it up
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