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| User: | diamonalogist (9363580) Shadows of insanity
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| Name: | diamonalogist | |||||
| E-mail: | diamond_butterfly@msn.com | |||||
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| Bio: | . Yes. Hate these things. Not because there's a lack of words or ideas or both but because, when the time comes to start writing something, you just lose your grand concept and stare at the screen blankly. . Anger, Jealousy and Revenge. I'm feeling angry because I'm ugly. I'm jealous because I want what I cannot get. And I'll get my revenge. One day. . Arrogance is supermassive, like the Muse with their Massive Black Hole. I don't like spiders much. That's why I never liked watching the Spiderman. Spidergirl is Spiderman gone tranny, grown small A-cup breasts and cut off his dick. Frankly, there is two types of people. Me and all the rest. Angel flutter between opened and closed eyes, below eyelids, but not quite there, said the little pink furia and clawed my eyes out with his bright red talons. The green lad furia agreed and chocked me with his slim tail, forming a slipknot around my neck. Rainbows are for pussies, the third one claimed and started carving his signature to my belly. R. E. V. E. N. G. E. . Sometimes there are heartworms everywhere. Not only in your heart, but really, in fact, every fucking where. Shopping in peoples brains. Shitting in peoples lungs. Shagging in peoples bums. Shaking their dicks at our sanity. No, wait. Where is the sanity? Stealing our whores and bitches, boasting and bragging with our blood. Pearl coloured champagne runs like salty water from our eyes. I need cash. They will not give me a head if I don't pay them now. Prudy prostitute. I should change my sex and shape my member right to rip her ass apart. . Let's go and group hug the toilet seat! . Serial killers are people like you and me, uncaring and blessed with the lack of human feelings, as cold as a frigid bitch. That’s what we are, aren’t we? Serial killers? Of course, in nightmares, murderers have emotions, worry and pity even. Where to they come from? From a family where an almost dead child is molested every night by his uncle. Boy's teenage sister is pregnant with twins. Mom's an alcoholic. Daddy is dead and his DNA is pooling under the dirty sheets in the kiddy's room. But, oh, wait! This is not a dream! It’s fucking reality! I feel so cold. So apathic. So fucked up. Why do we smile and carry on like nothing has happened? Why do we live when there is nothing to live for? Why do we care when there is nothing to care for? Why do we die when we are dead already? Why does Death follow me, when I’m dead to begin with? . Children are asexual. Aiki's het and so is Laurix. I'm still a child. . Can you hear it? Silent whispering of the lies. Insanity running deep in your veins, mixing with the delirious blood and keeping the monster within at bay. Are you sure you're okay? Because lies have the tendency to be untrue, soul inside of you is too lethargic to care and blood, hah, blood IS the insanity, dear! . He was sitting on his bed, a pillow covering his rounded belly. The bed was in the middle of the room, headboard against the wall and two tall white windows on the right. His head was dropped, resting on his knees he had pulled closer to his body, eyes staring at one spot where the wall and floor melted into one. Moribund to carry the baby, his baby. It is all okay. You can stop now. I will hold your hand. And we will keep on breathing together. Forever. And ever. Amen. He slipped his thin, spindly fingers below his tee and cupped the swollen belly, his outie belly button brushing against his hand. 'Baby, it is time to go.' † . Who is Igor? Why they keep calling me Igor? I'm NOT Igor! Am I? She is Igor! She lied to me! BITCH! IGOR! . Shall I tell you that I'm okay? Because it's pretty and pointless. I'm not okay. No. On the contrary. I'm not okay. I'm bad. I'm evil. I know that. I asked from the BRaIN. One Backstreet Boy is gay, it answered and smiled me the Grim Smile. You're bad, dear, it said. Jump off the cliff and fucking die, it said. The bloodstains on the carpet are hard to bleach out, it bloody said and I killed it. Accidentally. I though it was talking about itself. It is still lying under the pebbles at the bank. Good Lord. It deserved to die. Like me. Kill me, please? You'll kill me if I say 'please', right? No?! FUCK YOU!!! Anger. She's got the perfect nails. Perfect friends. Perfect clothing. Perfect perfume. Perfect diamonds. Perfect pussy. Perfect slightly freckled skin. Perfect tongue. Perfect antibaby pills. Perfect toes. Perfect tits. Perfect boyfriend. Perfect ass. Perfect sanity. Perfect belly button. Perfect home. Perfect teeth. Perfect grades. Perfect make up. Perfect- no, wait! She's a HE! Jealousy. I was sinning and killing and wham! One day I stumble on your house, your husband and wife lying in the bed, the girl of yours playing with her dollies and she looks just like one of them. I killed her. And you ass fucked me back. That is revenge. . Silver bullets are raining like blood, now. The brothers Furies are done with me now. Pink Anger bum fucks the little Jealousy, now. Jealousy sucks Revenge's dick, now. And Revenge raises his middle fingers at me, now. . As you can see I can write about everything, in my stories reign the echoes of echoes, losing the point various times as reverberation loses its purpose and noise, but I keep coming back for the first thing I wrote back again and again. What is worse? Being loved and hated at the same? Or not giving a fuck to anyone? I like apathy because I feel nothing. I like stoic pointlessness the life offers because we are not made for anything more. We live in a world that does not love us at all and cares for us even less. It is time to be pulled away from the Mother Nature's cocked breast and die in the arms of the Death. I smile. It is an evil smile. I know, I practiced. . What is more to talk about me? I'm young, too young for my own good, because I feel so much older but I want to be much younger. Complexity is one of my trademarks. If you understand what I write, congratulations, because I certainly can not understand half the things I think. I think I'm fairly sadistic and cynic. Over my future looms the dark shadow of suicides, because if Aiki doesn't kill me by the time my 40th birthday comes around, that is the most likely way to how I end my misery. Butchery and vivisection. I suffer from atelophobia - fear of imperfection. What am I, you ask? You don't. I like having long scrupulously important conversations with myself. I'm fairly bitchy, cynical, sarcastic, picky, agonizingly pedantic, extremely moody, naïve, even homicidal, depressed... and insane. Or you want the list in alphabetical order? . 'Princess, are you awake? 'Are you?' he asks, smiling sinisterly. 'Princess, I have to tell you something,' his baby brother whispers. 'A secret?' 'Yes.' 'I love secrets.' . As I quoted once, blood is the insanity. I should have been the bad twin. And the questions concerning my mental circumstances would not be asked. . I live in the Shadows of Insanity. I am born impromptu, on 19th. I am grazy eight. . | |||||
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| Friend of: | 3: aike15, pedekari, urrslashniu | |||||
| Account type: | Basic Account | |||||
