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Rated: 18+ · Other · Adult · #1823238
A character I once knew
I am not doing this again
I am not doing this again she said to me as I polished her shoes with hypocrisy, bathed her in modesty, in hopes of hanging her idiocracy you see, as Robert Plant once sang of being dazed and confused, she, so consumed with the juxtaposition of ostentatious tableaus, inadvertently blocked her ears with the sugar canes in her left pocket. She struck me as a second rate version of a one hit wonder on painkillers, her nose hairs shook to the sound of the electronic beats. She was small, she was big. I often bit into an orange to make sure that my life was not heading towards acidic damnation but she insisted on juicing them and making a tiramisu. She cooked often, I remember, as the temperature of the oven reminded her of her exboyfriend's tactile tendencies. It never bothered me that she ate from the same box of crayons, I loved magenta she lit herself on fire. Crayloaesque embargo, how I remember you so. At the peak of our existence we contemplated inexistence but assured ourselves that tomorrow is yesterday. I ate her clock, she popped my soul. It all changed the day she hopped on a van to what seemed at the time, a naughty dystopia. She cried on her dogs and retorted that god was a cross-dressing degenerate! Her van broke down and searched for a buddhist companion, fortunately for him a monk had just sold his ferrari. I ate myself to sleep when she sold her soul to machinery.I questioned my condiments and demanded absolution. I stood, I sat, I met a piece of furniture who finally said to me "Lie down already, you needn't wait for.."
I was, at that moment, interrupted by the starry-eyed, vehicular whore, as she repeated the lines
"I am not doing this again"
"I am not doing this again"

Part II

So what now you tyre-seeking pear? You have licked my cheek of empathy with your rusty tongue of apathy! You have spiked our tiramisu with words, which, now sink to the bottom of my stomach, to be released into the sewers of the realness you one preached. I am a white chocolate smothered atheist in a sea of pseudo-intellectual cocoa liquored phonies. I am regurgitating, I am swallowing, in this existence, I am perfect.
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