Target Practice
This is going to be one of those entries where I allude to something vaguely with poorly wrought metaphors because it wouldn't do to let everyone know how exactly I am just like everyone else. So let us play the parts. Internet, you'll be my priest and the box. I'll be the attention craving sinner with my pretty, pretty rosary. (Internet, please dress the part, you know how I love uniforms.)
I often let fear take the reins in my day-to-day life. Which is sad because I think about you a lot, and it's not fair to you because I really love the safety, and probably not you as much as I should or could. It's not fair to a lot of people, so I don't say anything. We always miss our targets, but not by much. Pathetically, I'm the only one who still thinks about it. It only bothers me now because it's impossible. And that's my second love: Impossibilities. Milieu and cowardice is such that I can be at my most comfortable and cruel. I would do a lot of things for you, I would stop a lot of things for you--A hell of a lot of drastic things, and that scares me. You scare me so much sometimes. I steer you in these weird directions so I don't have to face anything, under the guise that "you'll be more happy this way." It's sick, idiotic, and lacking in respect for you. Writing this is sick of me. But casualties are minimal on every front, and I'm safe to continue my affair with impossibility.
I often let fear take the reins in my day-to-day life. Which is sad because I think about you a lot, and it's not fair to you because I really love the safety, and probably not you as much as I should or could. It's not fair to a lot of people, so I don't say anything. We always miss our targets, but not by much. Pathetically, I'm the only one who still thinks about it. It only bothers me now because it's impossible. And that's my second love: Impossibilities. Milieu and cowardice is such that I can be at my most comfortable and cruel. I would do a lot of things for you, I would stop a lot of things for you--A hell of a lot of drastic things, and that scares me. You scare me so much sometimes. I steer you in these weird directions so I don't have to face anything, under the guise that "you'll be more happy this way." It's sick, idiotic, and lacking in respect for you. Writing this is sick of me. But casualties are minimal on every front, and I'm safe to continue my affair with impossibility.