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, toi are as awake as toi are asleep, you're neither. jouer la comédie out on muscle memory as toi slug through the day, never were toi fully asleep ou fully awake. You’re just there. Like an single Slash mark in the world, adding yourself, thinking toi 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, toi 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?”
toi do, but toi won’t. Above the thick rims, toi 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, hommage his neatly steam-press Marc Polo elbows onto your property. toi swore at that moment, toi wanted, needed to beat him down. Suffocate his pseudo accent with that godawful tie until your knuckles bare whiter than peaking tanlines. toi hate this man. Walking around like people even enjoy his presence, his spiels actually worth something. Mr. English, sure he has plus "mangrit" than toi can ever achieve, but at least toi can catch a clue as if it was painted blue.
"Something had whisk me away tonight, do toi mind filling in for me?"
toi can, but toi wouldn't but toi still accept. Anything to get his purple patch Glee out of there. Though, who did he fight?
toi ask.
"Oh! This. It's nothing just a tussle I had, have toi ever gotten in a good round of fisticuffs before?"
Snap.
toi snapped, all because toi didn't want to lie about never getting into a fight before. It wasn't that toi were scared of confrontation, toi 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, toi hooked and yank the tie back in the means of arching English muscle. toi felt him, ribcage expanding to his flaring nostrils sucking in air as toi sat on haut, retour au début 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, toi 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, toi wipe the sweat beading across your brow. Still toi sat on haut, retour au début of him, wondering how are toi going fund toi Ikea furnished accueil now. Until, toi felt a tug against your shirt. Fingers streaked red and again, toi averted your gaze back to him.
"You okay?"
Snap.
toi shake toi head. You're back on your chair and your awake from your dream. toi began to nod your furiously to shoo Mr. English away.
"You don't want to die without any scars now do you?"
No, no toi don't.
"Then live a little! Go out on an adventure, lad." He hoot, "well, if toi best be needing me. I'll be in my office."
-
toi are awake.
Wide awake, and toi can see just about everything. Shutting the glass door shut, toi began to make way down the street. It's 2am, and you're still up this unnatural hour. toi should be in bed, tucked away in a dream instead of staying up as if you're running some blog ou lire some story to get your sexual frustrations out. However, toi are here. Walking along the road listening to the honks, skids, flicker of the street.
"Hey loser."
Stopping toi turn to face the source of noise, to the left toi 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 toi meet Dave Strider.
He was new in town, coming from someplace down south toi 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 toi 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 toi make. They don't give a fuck if you're popping eight balls so hard, Snoop Dog got toi on speed dial all they care about is toi how toi 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 toi can feel better for yourself. toi are no malicious person, toi are a simply a human being in this materialistic society toi were carved in. toi are a copy, of a copy, of a copy but toi 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 toi on top.
toi are Dave's bitch.
And you're not complaining.
Dave gets your pants off in public, and toi allow him. He's calling toi the "finest piece of ass" he's ever seen other than his own, and damn don't toi feel special. Just the way Dave is leading toi to the side of the building, toi knew he had done this before. He sliding like no man should ever be legally to do so, criminally smooth he push toi against the wall. The leather strap slip from your grasp to supply mutes. toi are not his first, and neither is he yours but toi will damn if toi a dit toi lying when toi 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 rose tongue thumbing through those full, plump lips tented your slacks.
toi pantalon, pantalons sport pooled around your ankles, already Dave colombe right in. Placing sloppy kisses over the cotton briefs, closing your eyes toi let Dave work toi into a puddle of nothing. toi sighed, Dave.
toi open your eyes once more, making sure Dave was there. Making sure Dave wasn't another one of your dreams.
toi see a télévision screen, not Dave Strider.
Disappointments, disappointments everywhere. That's the problem with insomnia, you're never really awake ou asleep. You're just there. Filling a void in the world up until your expiration date. What's the point of lying in bed, toi have work to go to. Getting up, toi make way towards your bedroom, pop a few pills and get your cul, ass in the shower. Cutting a corner, toi start to wonder. Was there a person even name Dave Strider? What is he? Wait, toi know the answer.
He's not you.
toi wish toi could've gotten at least a phone num- dear god what the fuck is that? Sitting on haut, retour au début of your computer, what kind of doll requires that long of a fucking nose? Holy shit, what the fuck. Though, toi couldn't help but to indulge in curiousity. Rolling your step along the carpet, toi ease your way to mysterious beast. That thing can explode, rob you, multiply, toi don't even know. Huh? Your computer is on.
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
TG: sup
TG: ever need company
TG: toi 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]
toi 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, toi 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?”
toi do, but toi won’t. Above the thick rims, toi 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, hommage his neatly steam-press Marc Polo elbows onto your property. toi swore at that moment, toi wanted, needed to beat him down. Suffocate his pseudo accent with that godawful tie until your knuckles bare whiter than peaking tanlines. toi hate this man. Walking around like people even enjoy his presence, his spiels actually worth something. Mr. English, sure he has plus "mangrit" than toi can ever achieve, but at least toi can catch a clue as if it was painted blue.
"Something had whisk me away tonight, do toi mind filling in for me?"
toi can, but toi wouldn't but toi still accept. Anything to get his purple patch Glee out of there. Though, who did he fight?
toi ask.
"Oh! This. It's nothing just a tussle I had, have toi ever gotten in a good round of fisticuffs before?"
Snap.
toi snapped, all because toi didn't want to lie about never getting into a fight before. It wasn't that toi were scared of confrontation, toi 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, toi hooked and yank the tie back in the means of arching English muscle. toi felt him, ribcage expanding to his flaring nostrils sucking in air as toi sat on haut, retour au début 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, toi 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, toi wipe the sweat beading across your brow. Still toi sat on haut, retour au début of him, wondering how are toi going fund toi Ikea furnished accueil now. Until, toi felt a tug against your shirt. Fingers streaked red and again, toi averted your gaze back to him.
"You okay?"
Snap.
toi shake toi head. You're back on your chair and your awake from your dream. toi began to nod your furiously to shoo Mr. English away.
"You don't want to die without any scars now do you?"
No, no toi don't.
"Then live a little! Go out on an adventure, lad." He hoot, "well, if toi best be needing me. I'll be in my office."
-
toi are awake.
Wide awake, and toi can see just about everything. Shutting the glass door shut, toi began to make way down the street. It's 2am, and you're still up this unnatural hour. toi should be in bed, tucked away in a dream instead of staying up as if you're running some blog ou lire some story to get your sexual frustrations out. However, toi are here. Walking along the road listening to the honks, skids, flicker of the street.
"Hey loser."
Stopping toi turn to face the source of noise, to the left toi 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 toi meet Dave Strider.
He was new in town, coming from someplace down south toi 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 toi 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 toi make. They don't give a fuck if you're popping eight balls so hard, Snoop Dog got toi on speed dial all they care about is toi how toi 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 toi can feel better for yourself. toi are no malicious person, toi are a simply a human being in this materialistic society toi were carved in. toi are a copy, of a copy, of a copy but toi 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 toi on top.
toi are Dave's bitch.
And you're not complaining.
Dave gets your pants off in public, and toi allow him. He's calling toi the "finest piece of ass" he's ever seen other than his own, and damn don't toi feel special. Just the way Dave is leading toi to the side of the building, toi knew he had done this before. He sliding like no man should ever be legally to do so, criminally smooth he push toi against the wall. The leather strap slip from your grasp to supply mutes. toi are not his first, and neither is he yours but toi will damn if toi a dit toi lying when toi 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 rose tongue thumbing through those full, plump lips tented your slacks.
toi pantalon, pantalons sport pooled around your ankles, already Dave colombe right in. Placing sloppy kisses over the cotton briefs, closing your eyes toi let Dave work toi into a puddle of nothing. toi sighed, Dave.
toi open your eyes once more, making sure Dave was there. Making sure Dave wasn't another one of your dreams.
toi see a télévision screen, not Dave Strider.
Disappointments, disappointments everywhere. That's the problem with insomnia, you're never really awake ou asleep. You're just there. Filling a void in the world up until your expiration date. What's the point of lying in bed, toi have work to go to. Getting up, toi make way towards your bedroom, pop a few pills and get your cul, ass in the shower. Cutting a corner, toi start to wonder. Was there a person even name Dave Strider? What is he? Wait, toi know the answer.
He's not you.
toi wish toi could've gotten at least a phone num- dear god what the fuck is that? Sitting on haut, retour au début of your computer, what kind of doll requires that long of a fucking nose? Holy shit, what the fuck. Though, toi couldn't help but to indulge in curiousity. Rolling your step along the carpet, toi ease your way to mysterious beast. That thing can explode, rob you, multiply, toi don't even know. Huh? Your computer is on.
turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
TG: sup
TG: ever need company
TG: toi 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]
toi are Dave's booty call.