KEVIN ANGRY.
so, there's that crushing misery feeling, again.
-
I'm absolutely convinced that I'm fucking magical, that my mere touch does things that no mortal can comprehend.
you know what the magic is called? I've got the fucking Sadim Touch. Yanno what that shit is? It's like the Midas touch, but it's fucking backwards. Everything I touch, love, and feel for turns to shit.
I'd rather have the gold, because I'd be excited to at least be able to see the memories and loves and all that in much the same fashion as I remember them.
but, this is the motherfucking Sadim touch. instead of turning to gold, it all turns to liquid shit. it pools up on the floor, and I can't help but step in it - it's all over the goddamned place, and it's gotten into everything I own. even things that the shit doesn't literally cover are close enough to pick up residual staining and, god, the smell.
it's stinky for a while, and then, soon as the weather permits, the wind and rain eventually - eventually - wear away at the gunk. the stain goes first - the visual reminders. but the smell? the smell stays on for some time.
I need to stop loving.
that is all.
hooray!
-
aside from that, I start work on tuesday. new things, new opportunities... and maybe a chance to help some wind circulate and get me out of my own personal hell.
well, I doubt it.
goddamnit, I love being a cancer.
-
I hope I die tomorrow.
-
I'm absolutely convinced that I'm fucking magical, that my mere touch does things that no mortal can comprehend.
you know what the magic is called? I've got the fucking Sadim Touch. Yanno what that shit is? It's like the Midas touch, but it's fucking backwards. Everything I touch, love, and feel for turns to shit.
I'd rather have the gold, because I'd be excited to at least be able to see the memories and loves and all that in much the same fashion as I remember them.
but, this is the motherfucking Sadim touch. instead of turning to gold, it all turns to liquid shit. it pools up on the floor, and I can't help but step in it - it's all over the goddamned place, and it's gotten into everything I own. even things that the shit doesn't literally cover are close enough to pick up residual staining and, god, the smell.
it's stinky for a while, and then, soon as the weather permits, the wind and rain eventually - eventually - wear away at the gunk. the stain goes first - the visual reminders. but the smell? the smell stays on for some time.
I need to stop loving.
that is all.
hooray!
-
aside from that, I start work on tuesday. new things, new opportunities... and maybe a chance to help some wind circulate and get me out of my own personal hell.
well, I doubt it.
goddamnit, I love being a cancer.
-
I hope I die tomorrow.