SugerWhite
Experienced
- Joined
- May 7, 2002
- Posts
- 48
by SugerWhite
My thoughts are muddled; impure, insincere, and insubstantial. One can add violent, illogical, irrational, emotional, and paralytic to that list. I always hear a voice in my little head. Just one; my own. Do I let the world know that voice? No, I never do.
The world is a cynical, terrifying place when you are alone. It's decaying and degenerating as I write. I sometimes cry when I watch the news on TV. I feel helpless watching the violence going on. People argue, debate, and negotiate to no end. Do I join in the debate? No, I do not. I see no point in that. I listen.
I tell you how fucked up the world is today. I was walking on Tottenham Court Avenue just the other day. It was a rather sunny day, and it made me smile, thinking of the arrival of Spring. I wasn't shopping or anything. I was trying to get to the tube station.
'Could you spare some change, please?' I heard a little voice say.
I turned and saw a young girl with small, pale face, no older than thirteen or fourteen, looking up to me. She was wearing what any teenagers would wear, but her clothes were a little soiled. Her hair was long and greasy, as if it hadn't been washed in a week. I dug my hand in my pocket and handed her most of the coins I had in there. The life on the streets is tough and unforgiving. I knew where she's coming from. I would've gone where she was going.
Taking what I had to offer, she asked, 'Could you spare me a fiver?'
I walked off in a flash of anger. How dare she to ask for more?!
After several brisk, angry steps, I stopped and turned around. She was gone. I wanted so much to hug her and apologise to her the way I had reacted. I should've known better. It was too late. I still have nightmares about what has happened to her, or is still happening to her.
You see, once I was just like her; running away from something or somebody. Most people don't really care about the unfortunates, as the Russians call them. For most of us, they are faceless, nameless, and waste of fucking space. My lover saved me and taught me otherwise. Without my lover, I'd probably be dead by now.
I do not complain my lover sharing me with the others. I would be lying if I say I don't enjoy sex. But, still... sometimes I feel like a thing; a piece of meat. Does an inanimate object feel? If it does, I feel exactly like that. I DO love my partner. My lover means the world to me. My lover is not in any way abusive, or uncaring towards me. Complete opposite, in fact. I just feel that one day, my lover will be tired of me and pick a new favourite toy. Where would I go then?
Oh..., look how I whine! I wanted to write about what, I think, is wrong with the world today, but instead, I wrote how fucked up my life is! Never you mind. It's just a voice.
copyright: Who fucking cares!
My thoughts are muddled; impure, insincere, and insubstantial. One can add violent, illogical, irrational, emotional, and paralytic to that list. I always hear a voice in my little head. Just one; my own. Do I let the world know that voice? No, I never do.
The world is a cynical, terrifying place when you are alone. It's decaying and degenerating as I write. I sometimes cry when I watch the news on TV. I feel helpless watching the violence going on. People argue, debate, and negotiate to no end. Do I join in the debate? No, I do not. I see no point in that. I listen.
I tell you how fucked up the world is today. I was walking on Tottenham Court Avenue just the other day. It was a rather sunny day, and it made me smile, thinking of the arrival of Spring. I wasn't shopping or anything. I was trying to get to the tube station.
'Could you spare some change, please?' I heard a little voice say.
I turned and saw a young girl with small, pale face, no older than thirteen or fourteen, looking up to me. She was wearing what any teenagers would wear, but her clothes were a little soiled. Her hair was long and greasy, as if it hadn't been washed in a week. I dug my hand in my pocket and handed her most of the coins I had in there. The life on the streets is tough and unforgiving. I knew where she's coming from. I would've gone where she was going.
Taking what I had to offer, she asked, 'Could you spare me a fiver?'
I walked off in a flash of anger. How dare she to ask for more?!
After several brisk, angry steps, I stopped and turned around. She was gone. I wanted so much to hug her and apologise to her the way I had reacted. I should've known better. It was too late. I still have nightmares about what has happened to her, or is still happening to her.
You see, once I was just like her; running away from something or somebody. Most people don't really care about the unfortunates, as the Russians call them. For most of us, they are faceless, nameless, and waste of fucking space. My lover saved me and taught me otherwise. Without my lover, I'd probably be dead by now.
I do not complain my lover sharing me with the others. I would be lying if I say I don't enjoy sex. But, still... sometimes I feel like a thing; a piece of meat. Does an inanimate object feel? If it does, I feel exactly like that. I DO love my partner. My lover means the world to me. My lover is not in any way abusive, or uncaring towards me. Complete opposite, in fact. I just feel that one day, my lover will be tired of me and pick a new favourite toy. Where would I go then?
Oh..., look how I whine! I wanted to write about what, I think, is wrong with the world today, but instead, I wrote how fucked up my life is! Never you mind. It's just a voice.
copyright: Who fucking cares!
