**Gone was my beloved muse, the puppet I tried to play, and the one I tried to love. But love is not love when you’re loving an image not the person. I am, at bottom, an obsessive spoiled brat, who believed every color, every word, every coincidence, to be a symbol that we were meant to be. I told myself I was letting go of my inhibitions, but why did I find myself contorting my identity, just so I could deem myself worthy to be with him? I didn’t think he could love me for me, as the me that I find myself looking at, didn’t fit in my perverse aesthetic. I could only talk to him behind a digital barricade, so that I would maintain an illusion, an appearance that was almost perfect, but not too perfect so I wouldn’t scare him away. I was careful, measuring the amount of ** truth I’d pour in a cup, and the amount of facade I was willing to give. In the end, when we both locked eyes for the first time, when he saw the blood seeping through the mask, he saw me, which made him he run away. After he was gone, I noticed a few slight changes, I noticed the colors weren’t actually as saturated, the art was actually quite unromantic, and the day wasn’t actually spectacular. Now I’m here, on the bed, and I guess I’m going to sleep now that my nights are regular again.
It is simultaneously the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end, a paradox is not a paradox, it makes perfect sense!
Words are like mazes, complicated and extremely hard to go navigate. It can conceal or reveal its master’s tongue, or reside inside the deepest pits of their mind. What is the purpose for language? Can’t our actions just speak for us?
Light is attributed to day, while dark is to night, yet it still looks pretty bright outside of london at 11pm. The snappy snaps shop just right around the corner, continues to illuminate its piss colored mascot around the whole town.
Just about now, a piss colored drag queen makes her brusque exit from the Two Brewery bar and trips on her kitten heel. “OH FUCK YOU TOO BRUCE!” The enraged queer then threw a pair of her endangered heels at the door, and proceeded to walk off with the grace and elegance of a man.
Eliah’s bones struggle to carry the weight of her skinny frame, no longer can she hide the perversity of her flesh. “I am brittle and bruised…. My luck has never been this bad! Oh mother please! If I am to die, I’d rather it’d be from exhaustion not as tribute!” Eliah soliloquies herself, to a crowd of attic mice and cockroaches. She can barely curl up in the corner she’s at, much less be chosen to fight in the Hunger Games! Only 12 years of age, yet her parents are already prepared to sprinkle bread crumbs on her grave. 5 minutes have passed, and her Mother went up the attic stairs, carrying an abomination of leather with her own two hands. Whatever it is she’s holding, it surely wouldn’t be able to withstand the brusque terrain; Oh it surely wouldn’t last on the battlefield any longer than 2 minutes! “Sweetie! I have good news for once! You know your Uncle Tom who has experience sewing?” Amyl’s sweet disposition almost irks off a depressed Eli. “Yeah what about it?” “You’ve been complaining that you’re too unprepared for the Hunger Games, so I asked him to whip up something nice for you! C’mon try it on”
Eli gazes over to the leather garment, and quickly with haste said “But mom! This is too flimsy and brittle! I’m brittle!” “Brittle? This is the best work of leather our district can produce!” “That’s exactly the problem, OUR DISTRICT!” “Oh for Panem’s sake! All you do is three things: complain, complain again, & complain some more! I’ll only grant you the right to cOmPlaIn, when you can successfully carry two buckets of water.. Ugh! I can barely take a look at your bruises.” Amyl took a moment to breathe before continuing “This is your one chance to be useful, I surely hope you don’t waste it by disappointing me, or OUR district.” “Im sorry.” “I sure hope you are. Now go on, try it on!” Eliah tries on the leather “armor” or (pseudo-armor as she likes to call it), and moves around with it for a minute or so. This is her first time wearing the garment, yet she can already feel it breaking apart at the seams. “….It fits perfectly like a glove mom!” which is clearly a bold-faced lie “Perfect! Now you’re ready..” “Wait I still need a weapon!” “Oh right!” Mother and daughter scavenge the attic in a wild and chaotic manner, it would make you think that they are thieves inside their own homes.
“I FOUND IT.” “What did you find Mama?” “Oh this is the perfect weapon you can use….” “Gee Ma, it seems like you’re more excited about this than I am.” “Lucky for you this weapon is “non-lethal” but still very powerful” “Oh just show it to me already!” An impatient Eliah crawls through a pile of trash until she reaches to her Mom’s side. What she saw confused her “Its a picture.. o-of me as a-“ “UGLY BABY AHAHAHAHHA! Who needs a weapon when you can torture the eyes of your foes and take em’ blind” Diabolical all she could think to herself. Looks like fate already has a predestined outcome for her, and it’s not looking good!
