Abstruse phase of nostalgia rewinding. I miss this and I miss that and I miss miss miss.
Here I am-- immobile, a partial paraplegic, resisting motions as if I've ravaged the world for seven decades long. Pseudostate rants-- please expect obscure amount of delirious off-topic derivation. Empty, guilty pleasure, enthusiasm, blank, blank, blank, kill, kill, kill, die. Collaboration indeed. I wonder why I wonder. There's so many things in my tackle list that I feel like exploding over the lines from the inside out. You know the feeling when you want something yet there's something holding you down from reaching to it in a first-degree slaughtering position?
Invisible men, thing, whatever you call it, make it bounce. Please I beg. Predicting a hormone powered excursion as of tomorrow's event. Contemplating on whether or not to kill time with dearest lass watching sweating men kicking balls or stay at home and be a good kid. Hurm. I prolly should.. Why, men and balls are... Okay, spare me the self-help guide book this instance!
Out of luck, I might be an inanimate, faux-headache-driven, sloth-clad object lounging around the house. In the evening, I sleep. At night.. I am a costumed vigilante? But, I might grab the chance of being a teen and doing things that teens do. Heck. I shall stop blabbering. I need to sleep graciously so I'd wake up elegantly. Wha?
Here I am-- immobile, a partial paraplegic, resisting motions as if I've ravaged the world for seven decades long. Pseudostate rants-- please expect obscure amount of delirious off-topic derivation. Empty, guilty pleasure, enthusiasm, blank, blank, blank, kill, kill, kill, die. Collaboration indeed. I wonder why I wonder. There's so many things in my tackle list that I feel like exploding over the lines from the inside out. You know the feeling when you want something yet there's something holding you down from reaching to it in a first-degree slaughtering position?
Invisible men, thing, whatever you call it, make it bounce. Please I beg. Predicting a hormone powered excursion as of tomorrow's event. Contemplating on whether or not to kill time with dearest lass watching sweating men kicking balls or stay at home and be a good kid. Hurm. I prolly should.. Why, men and balls are... Okay, spare me the self-help guide book this instance!
Out of luck, I might be an inanimate, faux-headache-driven, sloth-clad object lounging around the house. In the evening, I sleep. At night.. I am a costumed vigilante? But, I might grab the chance of being a teen and doing things that teens do. Heck. I shall stop blabbering. I need to sleep graciously so I'd wake up elegantly. Wha?
No comments:
Post a Comment