Man truly never ceases to amaze..
This was written by Joshua Ward. He hopes you enjoy reading it. And yes, I am referring to myself in third person. It's a habit. Anyways enjoy it.
Title: What you never say...
Date: May 7, 2009
Time: 5:08 PM
~Josh~
---
You don't say. Nope. You don't say a word. You don't say she's looking so totally worse off then yesterday. Nope. You don't say you wish you could have a beer right now instead of being at another pointless wedding reception, when you've already been through eight of them in the past week. Nope. You don't say that I look better with my hair down, instead of up, even though we had a heated argument about it last night. Such a thing would be an insult. Of course, calling me a slutty whore is definitely much better. That's not insulting at all. And it really isn't when it's been drilled into you the past fifteen years of marriage to a guy whom everyone thinks is a drunk to begin with anyway. No, you simply don't say these things. It would hurt your pride. And you'd consider yourself an outsider among your male peers. Such pointless words don't even deserve breath. But there you go again, thinking. About how the hell am I gonna get home on time without the wife nagging at me. And we know you just love the arguments you have with her. That's why your with her to begin with anyways, right? Sure, you can deny that you're a piece of shit to begin with anyways, but let's humour ourselves for a moment, shall we.
Let's pretend that you are living in a time where there are rotting corpses at your doorsteps everyday. Where all you can taste and smell and hear is the sound of rotted guts and you're forced to eat fish that has already been expired for weeks. Yes, that sounds nice, so let's pretend. How does it feel, the snakes that crawl upon your skin. You always said you liked the ones with poison. It was your ANTIDOTE to the modern normal life. Forget the fact that you make millions selling cars to people with nothing better to do with their time. The boss said you'd get a raise, so you accepted it with a handshake and a smile that said 'If I'm not worth a million bucks, I'm better off dead.' And so you shook his hand, and smiled your god-so-help-you smile. You're lying through your teeth you son of a bitch. Are you referring to your wife when you say that? We all know you're only with her for the sex anyway, which has become obscenely boring. Like one of those three hour movies where you watch an ant try to hop onto a branch, but he never makes it. Yes, those are definitely the movies worth watching. And desperate as you are for a cigarette, you go outside and let the smoke invade your lungs as your mouth makes love to a dead sheep. It's your sex, the overpowering smell and odour of flesh that you're so used to. Daddy never said you were a good boy did he? Let's be honest for a moment. Show me what you got, says the businessman who looks like a lawyer on crack. Yep, you smell it and taste it, and want to kiss a lobster, so it's claws can penetrate you and make you feel honoured that you were at that cocktail party.
What's your favourite kind of fish? The kind where they serve you what's right out of the ocean, waiting, staring into your eyelids, making you lick your lips in anticipation. The kind that simply SCREAMS Bite me, you senile devil. You never could control your sex drive very well. That's why you were expelled from college three times in a row. And lord knows you weren't a lady's man. So you did a gay phase, and paid men for blow jobs. That's a reassuring statement to put on your resume huh. So the next time, you can go up to the sexiest man in the room and say "You're hot," without blinking, leaving said sex-on-legs in a daze. And he'll wonder about you, if you're really up for a round of Jack Daniels. You'll get drunk, have fun, then wonder the next morning why the world is such a CLUSTERFUCK!! You scream it. Scream it bitch! As if the expression on your face symbolizes your own gratification. Make the world hear you. Pound it into their ear-drums. Make them bleed.
Of course, you're not a saint, even with that outfit. You've got the wings, the Halo, and even a staff that you made out of wood and coloured black, just for decoration. But you're still not a saint. Darling...
You're blood is showing...
~End~
This was written by Joshua Ward. He hopes you enjoy reading it. And yes, I am referring to myself in third person. It's a habit. Anyways enjoy it.
Title: What you never say...
Date: May 7, 2009
Time: 5:08 PM
~Josh~
---
You don't say. Nope. You don't say a word. You don't say she's looking so totally worse off then yesterday. Nope. You don't say you wish you could have a beer right now instead of being at another pointless wedding reception, when you've already been through eight of them in the past week. Nope. You don't say that I look better with my hair down, instead of up, even though we had a heated argument about it last night. Such a thing would be an insult. Of course, calling me a slutty whore is definitely much better. That's not insulting at all. And it really isn't when it's been drilled into you the past fifteen years of marriage to a guy whom everyone thinks is a drunk to begin with anyway. No, you simply don't say these things. It would hurt your pride. And you'd consider yourself an outsider among your male peers. Such pointless words don't even deserve breath. But there you go again, thinking. About how the hell am I gonna get home on time without the wife nagging at me. And we know you just love the arguments you have with her. That's why your with her to begin with anyways, right? Sure, you can deny that you're a piece of shit to begin with anyways, but let's humour ourselves for a moment, shall we.
Let's pretend that you are living in a time where there are rotting corpses at your doorsteps everyday. Where all you can taste and smell and hear is the sound of rotted guts and you're forced to eat fish that has already been expired for weeks. Yes, that sounds nice, so let's pretend. How does it feel, the snakes that crawl upon your skin. You always said you liked the ones with poison. It was your ANTIDOTE to the modern normal life. Forget the fact that you make millions selling cars to people with nothing better to do with their time. The boss said you'd get a raise, so you accepted it with a handshake and a smile that said 'If I'm not worth a million bucks, I'm better off dead.' And so you shook his hand, and smiled your god-so-help-you smile. You're lying through your teeth you son of a bitch. Are you referring to your wife when you say that? We all know you're only with her for the sex anyway, which has become obscenely boring. Like one of those three hour movies where you watch an ant try to hop onto a branch, but he never makes it. Yes, those are definitely the movies worth watching. And desperate as you are for a cigarette, you go outside and let the smoke invade your lungs as your mouth makes love to a dead sheep. It's your sex, the overpowering smell and odour of flesh that you're so used to. Daddy never said you were a good boy did he? Let's be honest for a moment. Show me what you got, says the businessman who looks like a lawyer on crack. Yep, you smell it and taste it, and want to kiss a lobster, so it's claws can penetrate you and make you feel honoured that you were at that cocktail party.
What's your favourite kind of fish? The kind where they serve you what's right out of the ocean, waiting, staring into your eyelids, making you lick your lips in anticipation. The kind that simply SCREAMS Bite me, you senile devil. You never could control your sex drive very well. That's why you were expelled from college three times in a row. And lord knows you weren't a lady's man. So you did a gay phase, and paid men for blow jobs. That's a reassuring statement to put on your resume huh. So the next time, you can go up to the sexiest man in the room and say "You're hot," without blinking, leaving said sex-on-legs in a daze. And he'll wonder about you, if you're really up for a round of Jack Daniels. You'll get drunk, have fun, then wonder the next morning why the world is such a CLUSTERFUCK!! You scream it. Scream it bitch! As if the expression on your face symbolizes your own gratification. Make the world hear you. Pound it into their ear-drums. Make them bleed.
Of course, you're not a saint, even with that outfit. You've got the wings, the Halo, and even a staff that you made out of wood and coloured black, just for decoration. But you're still not a saint. Darling...
You're blood is showing...
~End~
Delightfully wicked with a heart painted on silver glass...
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