The problem with insomnia is you’re awake. Fully functional and aware to every beat, thump, pump, slick, lick, rick, prick, oh now you’re just getting wordy aren’t you? That’s the thing, te are as awake as te are asleep, you're neither. recitazione out on muscle memory as te slug through the day, never were te fully asleep o fully awake. You’re just there. Like an single Slash mark in the world, adding yourself, thinking te belong when really, you’re just a number.
A number that no one will ever count on.
No one will rely on.
Lean on.
Carry on.
Just striding on your senseless body and numbing nods to every plea bargain bombarding your work desk. Stack after stack, te stamp after stamp upon papers after papers. That’s your job in this Empire, your duty in this institute of lies that produce faster than the red spoon products your Nana’s "son" is throwing up.
“You have a minute?”
te do, but te won’t. Above the thick rims, te can see him. Invading your cinematic cubic without a single care riding on mimicking bucks pondering the edges of his mouth. Jake, rather Mr.English, omaggio his neatly steam-press Marc Polo elbows onto your property. te swore at that moment, te wanted, needed to beat him down. Suffocate his pseudo accent with that godawful tie until your knuckles bare whiter than peaking tanlines. te hate this man. Walking around like people even enjoy his presence, his spiels actually worth something. Mr. English, sure he has più "mangrit" than te can ever achieve, but at least te can catch a clue as if it was painted blue.
"Something had whisk me away tonight, do te mind filling in for me?"
te can, but te wouldn't but te still accept. Anything to get his purple patch Glee out of there. Though, who did he fight?
te ask.
"Oh! This. It's nothing just a tussle I had, have te ever gotten in a good round of fisticuffs before?"
Snap.
te snapped, all because te didn't want to lie about never getting into a fight before. It wasn't that te were scared of confrontation, te just haven't, well until now.
On your heels, your lurch forward. Fingers leeching onto that shitty, green tie and as soon as your digits felt silk, around and around they looped the smooth grooves of the tie. Quickly, te hooked and yank the tie back in the means of arching English muscle. te felt him, ribcage expanding to his flaring nostrils sucking in air as te sat on superiore, in alto of his stomach. In the void, he shout a call for distress and yet, he's staring.
At
You.
As he whimpers underneath each and every swipe of knuckles across his pulsing cheeks. Jake's lips are still moving, forming a single word that seems utterly foreign to the drums of the ears perched beside your head. What is he saying? Who is he whimpering? Why is he still conscious? In the midst of your confusion, te cease your rampage. Loosening your grip, Jake head falls back in collection of blood leaking from his off-center nose and your panting. Gulping back the blood from your bitten tongue, te wipe the sweat beading across your brow. Still te sat on superiore, in alto of him, wondering how are te going fund te Ikea furnished home now. Until, te felt a tug against your shirt. Fingers streaked red and again, te averted your gaze back to him.
"You okay?"
Snap.
te shake te head. You're back on your chair and your awake from your dream. te began to nod your furiously to shoo Mr. English away.
"You don't want to die without any scars now do you?"
No, no te don't.
"Then live a little! Go out on an adventure, lad." He hoot, "well, if te best be needing me. I'll be in my office."
-
te are awake.
Wide awake, and te can see just about everything. Shutting the glass door shut, te began to make way down the street. It's 2am, and you're still up this unnatural hour. te should be in bed, tucked away in a dream instead of staying up as if you're running some blog o Leggere some story to get your sexual frustrations out. However, te are here. Walking along the road listening to the honks, skids, flicker of the street.
"Hey loser."
Stopping te turn to face the fonte of noise, to the left te see him. Back aligning to wall, hips shot as his hands violate his pockets, he's calling you.
"You lookin' a lil lonely, ya' need some Strider lovin', babe?" Southern roots bare between the smirk gliding along his lips.
This is how te meet Dave Strider.
He was new in town, coming from someplace down south te knew wasn't important to care for. Despite being in town for a week, he already found work: A waiter at this restaurant, cashier at this record store and this other place te couldn't recall because Dave got bored talking about useless, mind-numbing shit that no one is going to care about. According to Dave," the only shit people are going to remember is how much te make. They don't give a fuck if you're popping eight balls so hard, Snoop Dog got te on speed dial all they care about is te how te going to get Snoop Dog to perform at their shitty party. Just so they can say,'I bet your man can't do that.'"
In truth, that's all everybody cares about. Who's Alpha and who's Beta. We only ask people how their doing so we can tell them we're doing better than them, to put them in their place just so te can feel better for yourself. te are no malicious person, te are a simply a human being in this materialistic society te were carved in. te are a copy, of a copy, of a copy but te want to be the better copy. To better, to be closer to the original just to beat the original and become the best. If the world were to end, it will end with te on top.
te are Dave's bitch.
And you're not complaining.
Dave gets your pants off in public, and te allow him. He's calling te the "finest piece of ass" he's ever seen other than his own, and damn don't te feel special. Just the way Dave is leading te to the side of the building, te knew he had done this before. He sliding like no man should ever be legally to do so, criminally smooth he push te against the wall. The leather strap slip from your grasp to supply mutes. te are not his first, and neither is he yours but te will damn if te detto te lying when te say he doesn't excite you. That he doesn't get your blood pumping faster than anybody you've been with. The thought of him, ringing those rosy lips along your shaft, his rosa tongue thumbing through those full, plump lips tented your slacks.
te pantaloni pooled around your ankles, already Dave colomba right in. Placing sloppy kisses over the cotton briefs, closing your eyes te let Dave work te into a puddle of nothing. te sighed, Dave.
te open your eyes once more, making sure Dave was there. Making sure Dave wasn't another one of your dreams.
te see a Televisione screen, not Dave Strider.
Disappointments, disappointments everywhere. That's the problem with insomnia, you're never really awake o asleep. You're just there. Filling a void in the world up until your scadenza date. What's the point of lying in bed, te have work to go to. Getting up, te make way towards your bedroom, pop a few pills and get your culo in the shower. Cutting a corner, te start to wonder. Was there a person even name Dave Strider? What is he? Wait, te know the answer.
He's not you.
te wish te could've gotten at least a phone num- dear god what the fuck is that? Sitting on superiore, in alto of your computer, what kind of doll requires that long of a fucking nose? Holy shit, what the fuck. Though, te couldn't help but to indulge in curiousity. Rolling your step along the carpet, te ease your way to mysterious beast. That thing can explode, rob you, multiply, te don't even know. Huh? Your computer is on.
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
TG: sup
TG: ever need company
TG: te know who to call
TG: not that ghostbuster shit
TG: speaking of which nice boxers kid feels pretty damn nice
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
te are Dave's booty call.
A number that no one will ever count on.
No one will rely on.
Lean on.
Carry on.
Just striding on your senseless body and numbing nods to every plea bargain bombarding your work desk. Stack after stack, te stamp after stamp upon papers after papers. That’s your job in this Empire, your duty in this institute of lies that produce faster than the red spoon products your Nana’s "son" is throwing up.
“You have a minute?”
te do, but te won’t. Above the thick rims, te can see him. Invading your cinematic cubic without a single care riding on mimicking bucks pondering the edges of his mouth. Jake, rather Mr.English, omaggio his neatly steam-press Marc Polo elbows onto your property. te swore at that moment, te wanted, needed to beat him down. Suffocate his pseudo accent with that godawful tie until your knuckles bare whiter than peaking tanlines. te hate this man. Walking around like people even enjoy his presence, his spiels actually worth something. Mr. English, sure he has più "mangrit" than te can ever achieve, but at least te can catch a clue as if it was painted blue.
"Something had whisk me away tonight, do te mind filling in for me?"
te can, but te wouldn't but te still accept. Anything to get his purple patch Glee out of there. Though, who did he fight?
te ask.
"Oh! This. It's nothing just a tussle I had, have te ever gotten in a good round of fisticuffs before?"
Snap.
te snapped, all because te didn't want to lie about never getting into a fight before. It wasn't that te were scared of confrontation, te just haven't, well until now.
On your heels, your lurch forward. Fingers leeching onto that shitty, green tie and as soon as your digits felt silk, around and around they looped the smooth grooves of the tie. Quickly, te hooked and yank the tie back in the means of arching English muscle. te felt him, ribcage expanding to his flaring nostrils sucking in air as te sat on superiore, in alto of his stomach. In the void, he shout a call for distress and yet, he's staring.
At
You.
As he whimpers underneath each and every swipe of knuckles across his pulsing cheeks. Jake's lips are still moving, forming a single word that seems utterly foreign to the drums of the ears perched beside your head. What is he saying? Who is he whimpering? Why is he still conscious? In the midst of your confusion, te cease your rampage. Loosening your grip, Jake head falls back in collection of blood leaking from his off-center nose and your panting. Gulping back the blood from your bitten tongue, te wipe the sweat beading across your brow. Still te sat on superiore, in alto of him, wondering how are te going fund te Ikea furnished home now. Until, te felt a tug against your shirt. Fingers streaked red and again, te averted your gaze back to him.
"You okay?"
Snap.
te shake te head. You're back on your chair and your awake from your dream. te began to nod your furiously to shoo Mr. English away.
"You don't want to die without any scars now do you?"
No, no te don't.
"Then live a little! Go out on an adventure, lad." He hoot, "well, if te best be needing me. I'll be in my office."
-
te are awake.
Wide awake, and te can see just about everything. Shutting the glass door shut, te began to make way down the street. It's 2am, and you're still up this unnatural hour. te should be in bed, tucked away in a dream instead of staying up as if you're running some blog o Leggere some story to get your sexual frustrations out. However, te are here. Walking along the road listening to the honks, skids, flicker of the street.
"Hey loser."
Stopping te turn to face the fonte of noise, to the left te see him. Back aligning to wall, hips shot as his hands violate his pockets, he's calling you.
"You lookin' a lil lonely, ya' need some Strider lovin', babe?" Southern roots bare between the smirk gliding along his lips.
This is how te meet Dave Strider.
He was new in town, coming from someplace down south te knew wasn't important to care for. Despite being in town for a week, he already found work: A waiter at this restaurant, cashier at this record store and this other place te couldn't recall because Dave got bored talking about useless, mind-numbing shit that no one is going to care about. According to Dave," the only shit people are going to remember is how much te make. They don't give a fuck if you're popping eight balls so hard, Snoop Dog got te on speed dial all they care about is te how te going to get Snoop Dog to perform at their shitty party. Just so they can say,'I bet your man can't do that.'"
In truth, that's all everybody cares about. Who's Alpha and who's Beta. We only ask people how their doing so we can tell them we're doing better than them, to put them in their place just so te can feel better for yourself. te are no malicious person, te are a simply a human being in this materialistic society te were carved in. te are a copy, of a copy, of a copy but te want to be the better copy. To better, to be closer to the original just to beat the original and become the best. If the world were to end, it will end with te on top.
te are Dave's bitch.
And you're not complaining.
Dave gets your pants off in public, and te allow him. He's calling te the "finest piece of ass" he's ever seen other than his own, and damn don't te feel special. Just the way Dave is leading te to the side of the building, te knew he had done this before. He sliding like no man should ever be legally to do so, criminally smooth he push te against the wall. The leather strap slip from your grasp to supply mutes. te are not his first, and neither is he yours but te will damn if te detto te lying when te say he doesn't excite you. That he doesn't get your blood pumping faster than anybody you've been with. The thought of him, ringing those rosy lips along your shaft, his rosa tongue thumbing through those full, plump lips tented your slacks.
te pantaloni pooled around your ankles, already Dave colomba right in. Placing sloppy kisses over the cotton briefs, closing your eyes te let Dave work te into a puddle of nothing. te sighed, Dave.
te open your eyes once more, making sure Dave was there. Making sure Dave wasn't another one of your dreams.
te see a Televisione screen, not Dave Strider.
Disappointments, disappointments everywhere. That's the problem with insomnia, you're never really awake o asleep. You're just there. Filling a void in the world up until your scadenza date. What's the point of lying in bed, te have work to go to. Getting up, te make way towards your bedroom, pop a few pills and get your culo in the shower. Cutting a corner, te start to wonder. Was there a person even name Dave Strider? What is he? Wait, te know the answer.
He's not you.
te wish te could've gotten at least a phone num- dear god what the fuck is that? Sitting on superiore, in alto of your computer, what kind of doll requires that long of a fucking nose? Holy shit, what the fuck. Though, te couldn't help but to indulge in curiousity. Rolling your step along the carpet, te ease your way to mysterious beast. That thing can explode, rob you, multiply, te don't even know. Huh? Your computer is on.
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
TG: sup
TG: ever need company
TG: te know who to call
TG: not that ghostbuster shit
TG: speaking of which nice boxers kid feels pretty damn nice
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
te are Dave's booty call.
