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Adultery submitted 2009.04.22 01:05 AM by Symbolic_ viewed 1807 times


((DISCLAIMER FICTION))




I let my room pile up with garbage because I want to be consumed with the surrounding filth. I find myself melting into the week old wrappers, the two day old half drank sodas, the weeks and days old ramen cups lined up with disposable forks in each, a Jar of peanut butter half eaten, a series of bags from multiple restaurants take out of course I can't stand eating in front of other people.

The filth lines the desk, a series of spills surround the desk where paper towels were the only thing used to absorb the various liquids. Some were a few day old sodas that spilled from when I was rummaging through my desk looking for that one piece of mail I was going to need for the day. Other times were for that piece of paper I wrote that vital information on but didn't need till that very moment.

The floor is a series of stains from various spills. Some food, some liquid.

The bed is the only clean aspect of the room. Though, there is no sheet on the bed it's essentially just a mattress with clean blankets to cover myself and clean pillows.

I love the idea that this is my surrounding, it gives me an excuse as to why things never go my way. It gives me an excuse as to why I don't talk to that girl, why I don't try so hard, why I don't make more of an effort to snag the one that got away at work.

Or maybe I hate it, maybe I hate the idea that this is how I live but I just want to punish myself, maybe I want to make myself suffer so bad in some horrible environment because I hate myself and I hate everything around me. Maybe I have so much animosity towards humanity I want to live as an example, maybe I want to be the martyr of my generation the Kurt Cobain, the Vincent Van Gogh, the fucking Jesus Christ of my generation. The person with which so much faith and assurance was put into but gave away. Maybe I am the culmination the ending point, the one that should be the next president of these united states of america but I reject that fucking aspect. Maybe I'm the cancer that refused to cooperate. Call me benign, call me lethargic, but don't call me a rebel, don't call me a hero, call me a fucking human being. Call me like you see it, some asshole that fucking stopped giving a shit. Some asshole that stopped trying and started degrading.

Or maybe I'm over reacting. Maybe I'm really at some tea party enjoying myself and putting on the most interesting show for all to see. Maybe i'm the most interesting guy at the party, the one everyone simply has to meet, and the one with the most interesting stories. Or maybe I'm the guy at the punch bowl, the guy handing everyone a drink, handing them their poison of choice, handing them the thing that'll make them feel more human, more relaxed, more open, more happy.

Maybe I am ecstasy in the eyes of God. So good for a period of time, then a fucking crash, a fucking let down. The fucking smack in the face, the fucking cold glass of water, the fucking slap from the girl you'd give your right arm just to see her smile.

Fuck it,




I once dreamed a life to tell you the truth.





I dreamed of a two story house in some random suburb. I dreamed of two cars in the drive way, a woman to call my own, and a few children as well. I dreamed of this life for so long I was missing the one key ingredient. The thing that pulled this picture off and made it a fucking Norman Rockwell. That would be the Woman. I thought I found her, but I lost her, I lost her to my own idiocracy and then I lost her to the outside world. I would kill for this life, I would enlist myself as the most perverse of killers and offenders if the end result would give me fifty or sixty years of such happiness.

Sadly, you must do much more perverse and disgusting things to attain such things.

You must lie to yourself everyday, and then leave to other women who you then lie to for some silly reason to gain some sort of pleasure. You have to become the kind of liar that makes Satan himself blush. The kind of liar that hell was designed for. And then you must hate yourself. You must hate yourself because you have everything you ever wanted and you attained it so easily. You want to pat yourself on the back, but it was too easy. So fuck it up, fuck it up because fucking it up will give you another chance of finding it again. Fuck it up because happiness is the thing that can be bought at fucking wal mart at 3 a.m. fuck it up because mcdonalds needs people through it's drive thru at 4 a.m. fuck it up because you still have five hours before work plenty of time to get drunk.

So just fuck it.

And tell me fuck you if you decide to reply to this piece of shit post.



rating: 9


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