J-T
New Member
Chapter 1: Old September
What is the only thing that will wake me up in the morning; the cool air breeze into my bedroom, the numbers turning two zeros on my clock; or the fact that I can't stand to be home alone and bored? You so much as stay in bed with your head stuck under the blanket, you calmly shut your eyes and pretend the word doesn't exist, but that's not the way it works in a reality is it? I arrived this morning feeling like I usually do, tired and pissed; looking around for a job on the computer wondering if an opportunity is going to jump right out. Apparently it has yet to come to pass for some three and a half years. I've been lazy and half keel but that never puts me off into a previous position, not yet anyway. I wonder what will happen when a combination full of monetary constructs basically tell you what you have to do. When I both love and adore something which doesn't cover this; I seek no apology, no affirmations. No tortured souls breaking down or bearing upon me. They came for a cure, seven numbers were a form of conjecture that related to a kind of stillness. Seeing the shape was one. Relating to another was another misfortune of this little girl I once knew that wore slovenly like a cheap suit dancing to her little fairy tale debating whether it was necessary for us act like we did. Boorish and unclean; callus and afraid over what may one day look like vengeance, cloudy enough so we're all afraid over not acting like an acquiescent bullfrog.
What does the cool air breeze do for me? Looking over my tiny broad shoulders to see the summer is over. There's nowhere else to go, nowhere else to leave from. No food, no lights, no indication left that I felt safe . The memories were gone.
(If you would like to read the full six page chapter; send me a private message)
Thank You.
What is the only thing that will wake me up in the morning; the cool air breeze into my bedroom, the numbers turning two zeros on my clock; or the fact that I can't stand to be home alone and bored? You so much as stay in bed with your head stuck under the blanket, you calmly shut your eyes and pretend the word doesn't exist, but that's not the way it works in a reality is it? I arrived this morning feeling like I usually do, tired and pissed; looking around for a job on the computer wondering if an opportunity is going to jump right out. Apparently it has yet to come to pass for some three and a half years. I've been lazy and half keel but that never puts me off into a previous position, not yet anyway. I wonder what will happen when a combination full of monetary constructs basically tell you what you have to do. When I both love and adore something which doesn't cover this; I seek no apology, no affirmations. No tortured souls breaking down or bearing upon me. They came for a cure, seven numbers were a form of conjecture that related to a kind of stillness. Seeing the shape was one. Relating to another was another misfortune of this little girl I once knew that wore slovenly like a cheap suit dancing to her little fairy tale debating whether it was necessary for us act like we did. Boorish and unclean; callus and afraid over what may one day look like vengeance, cloudy enough so we're all afraid over not acting like an acquiescent bullfrog.
What does the cool air breeze do for me? Looking over my tiny broad shoulders to see the summer is over. There's nowhere else to go, nowhere else to leave from. No food, no lights, no indication left that I felt safe . The memories were gone.
(If you would like to read the full six page chapter; send me a private message)
Thank You.
