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Absolute Drivel
It's nearly four a.m. I'm not high, but I feel like I am. If I don't post this, I'll keep typing at it, and I really don't want this to grow. Feel free to rip this apart... It's drivel.
Floating through life, going through the motions. It's not long before I fall flat on my face. Fourteen simple years, and I've found this one, this man, and he's horrible.
Just like my mother. Don't talk back.
Like my father. Make a sick joke.
My sister. Don't slice your own flesh.
My brother. They want to beat each other bloody.
He's a lover, an early start, and once I start I can't stop. Falling in love hurts. Staying in love hurts. Seeing the 'friends' dwindle away, leave me a phone number, but I won't call. Goodbye, ta, see you soon, until there's one left.
Warring minds, warring me. This lover on the right and this loved one on the left. Who am I to give up this carnal corruption? Make sure to flip on your turn signal before spinning the wheel.
Alone. He's not around. Restrictions set, rules obeyed, tears wasted. Cuts made, and I give up and make the call.
He finds out, and he kills me so bad I go to see her and we have a broken-glass-ecstasy day.
Battles raging again, him against me against her. Caught in the middle, and isn't that just the story of my life?
Caught between raging parents.
Between torturing siblings.
Between the boys and the girls on the concrete schoolyard, running away from the lumbering authority mother-of-the-playground.
Now this battle roars on for years, settling comfortably in. He takes over my bed, she becomes a glam-glitz queen, strutting that leather down Fairfax. I visit her; he turns his face away, hiding his eyes in my pillow, waiting for me to leave.
I change with her, become whorish and vague, one of many, speak for yourself, we have got to show off those boots. He doesn't suspect a thing.
My jealousy-ridden computer torments me. No worries, no cares, I don't give a damn whether or not this boy looked at you today.
Talk to him.
He hates me.
Did he say that.
I don't talk to him.
Frustrate me deadly, you prude little vixen. Hug that autograph, and keep your words away from my screen.
That's the end of her. Overbalancing to the right, he takes me over, my grief hidden so he won't scorn me.
In lieu of the bloody war in my mind, there are bloody slices on my arms.
If you got this far, thanks for reading.
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