I go to work and perform repetitive duties. All around me, for the most part, I see the matching dire attitude and hopeless behavior. I see worn out characters attached to a status of a title and zombie-like conformity in their soulless eyes. There is no beauty ladies and gentleman, there is no savior.
I see the same faces, and to some I cringe in an imaginary mode of arthritis and to some I overlook their presence like a Debbie-downer and others I welcome to the stage an infamous sun-beaming smile to deter blurs. I preserve a high guard but play each and every card hard.
These scripted actors and actresses live outside their personal lives and live their personal lives with a past due account. They’re miserable looking for a way out of their life debt with the company of tequila, marijuana and shameless sex with one another. They’re all parasite routs.
I’m lost with how I became caught up in wearing nail polish because my female coworkers are in the midst of a competition I don’t fully comprehend. I don’t make up well. I rather hold on tightly to my personality than exist catty. I guess it’s why I have nil lady friends.
I flirt with the crowd all day. Young and old, fat or thin, dork or douche, I light the world of their features and make them red and forget the next word that was to come out their meek mouths. And what confident woman doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being well-endowed?
Than when I turn my back there’s a callous jealous cunt waiting for the right moment to knock me off my pedestal. But the odd thing is I know in return there’s this sickness unfathomable in her chemicals of wanting to lick away at my pussy. I find all of this and more fairly amusing.