Mirror Introduction
My name is Cid, to about half of you, and if you've never met me, I'm Cid.
I'll be starring in a poorly painted picture, put in your head by the tips of my.. fingers.
You may try to adapt accordingly, but I to plead you the prettiest of pleases that you save yourself the effort.
Our interaction is different than any of it's predecessors, as are my words to theirs.
I don't believe in "breaking the 4th wall" because people who live with metaphorical walls in their lives are literally giant pussies.
"Well, would you take my hand" he asked, eyes gleaming like someone's who was trustworthy and definitely not a rapist.
He was the most beautiful man she thought she had ever met. I am him by the way. I am Cid. Cid did all of these things.
Cid will continue to keep doing these things as I write them in past tense.
You look tense. I'd rub you down if I could, get all up in them shoulders.
OoOoOooh booyyyy getting sidetracked, okay, I'd like to invite you into my home.
I know you may find it hard to trust me based on our time together so far, but I told you not to do that.
Listen to me. Listen to my words as if they are being spoken to you.
The voice you're manifesting right now is ghastly I sound way fucking cooler than that bro. Best belee', me homie.
Now that you know you can trust me, come step into my home.
"Of course it's not a real person, silly!"
Cid replied to inquisition referring to what looked like the rotting corpse of a man spread out on his dining room centerpiece.
But the man wasn't real, I assure you. The flesh presented? Sure, it's almost as real as my black ass, but it was never blessed with a true owner.
Hollow and empty was the vessel. The man that pretended to be, was truly a cunt.
Other than that the house was very clean.
The observer did not take note of many other details as they sat on the marble floor Indian style. I turned on the lamp so that you could at very least see the books I have in arms reach.
Each of their pages are the same. Desolate and blank. But each of their bindings are different, as are their stories.
I will show you.
Just know that Cid has been around a very very long time, much longer than I. So I've done things never dared dreamt, things that you've been so luckily exempt.
In Contempt of Court : (This is where I will put an entirely different story)
My name is Cid, to about half of you, and if you've never met me, I'm Cid.
I'll be starring in a poorly painted picture, put in your head by the tips of my.. fingers.
You may try to adapt accordingly, but I to plead you the prettiest of pleases that you save yourself the effort.
Our interaction is different than any of it's predecessors, as are my words to theirs.
I don't believe in "breaking the 4th wall" because people who live with metaphorical walls in their lives are literally giant pussies.
"Well, would you take my hand" he asked, eyes gleaming like someone's who was trustworthy and definitely not a rapist.
He was the most beautiful man she thought she had ever met. I am him by the way. I am Cid. Cid did all of these things.
Cid will continue to keep doing these things as I write them in past tense.
You look tense. I'd rub you down if I could, get all up in them shoulders.
OoOoOooh booyyyy getting sidetracked, okay, I'd like to invite you into my home.
I know you may find it hard to trust me based on our time together so far, but I told you not to do that.
Listen to me. Listen to my words as if they are being spoken to you.
The voice you're manifesting right now is ghastly I sound way fucking cooler than that bro. Best belee', me homie.
Now that you know you can trust me, come step into my home.
"Of course it's not a real person, silly!"
Cid replied to inquisition referring to what looked like the rotting corpse of a man spread out on his dining room centerpiece.
But the man wasn't real, I assure you. The flesh presented? Sure, it's almost as real as my black ass, but it was never blessed with a true owner.
Hollow and empty was the vessel. The man that pretended to be, was truly a cunt.
Other than that the house was very clean.
The observer did not take note of many other details as they sat on the marble floor Indian style. I turned on the lamp so that you could at very least see the books I have in arms reach.
Each of their pages are the same. Desolate and blank. But each of their bindings are different, as are their stories.
I will show you.
Just know that Cid has been around a very very long time, much longer than I. So I've done things never dared dreamt, things that you've been so luckily exempt.
In Contempt of Court : (This is where I will put an entirely different story)
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