There is no license to feel. So more or less, I could exploit it to hell and back again like I wont be able to feel anymore. (Or more like, till i get all mentally and emotionally caloused)...
So Today... or for just this morning, at least let me be lonely and bluesy. Make that like a scene with my over-chemically exposed bangs sliding down my face like the picture of a geisha in that famous memoir- novel.
Not that I want to bring bad ju- ju to my remedial law quiz and make-up day. Not that I want to spoil some precious time on the pc screen doing a faux mope as i type this stupid tablet-caused malady...instead of chewing Sir Centensky's notes page by page .
I will not cry. I will not even sob.. i guess. When I know that what is supposed to be mine i'snt actually fuckin' mine. When will i ever learn to mark my "chattels" as mine and pee on my grounds? Because I trust too much. Fucking trust. Fucking make- believe. Fuck the optimists who lured meself to believe in the promise of bliss... (uhhhh... optimist? wasnt that you, self? )
I am not into optimism that much i guess. It's been just a matter of convincing yourself that a spiny cactus is the new rose... that black is the new pink... that crying is the new smile. or that fooling yourself is the new trend of being the O-word. shoooooooot.
Oh well, finders keepers. Losers, weepers. What's mine on "effing" paper, is mine. I don't care if somebody drops ink on it or tears a piece of it.. or tear it away from me a piece at a time (sure, mommy says "share"! fucking share)....or perhaps even if someone "effing" borrows it when i'm not aware... like all behind my texas... este Baguio- sized Butt!!! As to my last year in school, ..... well, here's to more of my hen-pecked schooldays !!!
Hurt me, Baby! hurt me y'all. Hurt me like y'all find pleasure in it. take that pleasure and shove it up to ya' God knows where! yeeeee haaaaaaaaaah. Arrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhrrrr.
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