ejaculate, and disperse

Damned festivities.

Nobody cares about warnings, dear. They appreciate the fact that you care enough and that you're extraordinarily pathetic, very pitiable, but they don't really give a bloody damn.

What are you going to do now?

I don't know. I can't think straight. I suppose I don't really want to try to.

Why don't you want to try?

Everytime I take a break from self-mutilation, I trip and fall back into the big black hole in the end. Perhaps this way, I'm saving time? Saving face? Saving grace?

Don't joke.

Goodness! He tells me to lighten up. She says she's worried. They want to know what's going on. And you, you prohibit jokes! Of all people, of all the times!

I'm just saying that foolish sentiments and grave matters have their own time.

They find their way to each other no sooner than later, believe me. What's so grave about it, anyway?

The way you always skirt around the issue makes me very uneasy.

All right, let's talk about it, let's confront my demons. (her eyes widen and she crouched a little as little children would if they were mimicking a ghostly apparition, demons in this case).

You're impossible.

Fuck him. Fuck it. Tell them I said that.

You're so weird.

I am not. You haven't met the rest of the world. No one is unique or special in their own way.

And very cynical.

What was the line? Cynicism marking lines on her cheek?

A line of sadness, like the beginning of cynicism, ran down her cheek.

Precisely what I said. My whole life's a paraphrase. It's highly odd that writers and authors of these books can put down my thoughts for me. Do you think they felt what I feel?

I suppose some of them did.

But they're all dead.

Not all of them.

The important ones, the treasured ones. I don't know their names. Names and faces. I don't remember them well when they go together.

What do you want, truly?

None of this nonsense, today. My head can't take it.

Your head can't take anything any day.

Oy.

Do you know that sometimes I pretend I cannot hear things?

Not until now.

Yes. It's fun. Escapism must not be taken lightly, though.

Describe me in a word.

Resentful.

You are not my friend today.

No, today I'm just honest.

Quite hilarious.

You know what's your problem?

Which one?

The big fat one.

Oh, no I don't. What is my big fat problem?

You don't say things. You notice, you see and you know all these things that you do but you don't talk. They could be massively important to you but you don't say them, still.

Okay.

You know what's your other problem?

My other big fat problem?

Yes. You knew what I was about to say but you let me say it anyway. No preemptive effort.

What makes you think I did not want to hear that from you?

Exactly my point. I don't know what you think because you never say anything.

Do you think about what happens to our thoughts when we go away for good? Will they be recycled, or will someone claim them for us, or perhaps people would manipulate them for greater evil? Much greater evil.

I don't. You do, I take it?

Yes. All the time. It bugs me a whole lot.

I can tell.

What were you thinking?

More tolerance. Yes, tolerance. Can you believe that? Increased indifference towards the things that don't matter. Lightheadedness. Communication skills nosedived. Unresolved issues take the backseat.

I don't like it.

Thou shalt not fear the metal clad clan.
There is plenty to say about the wrath of a scorned woman, and much to be passed around. Lady, or little adult.

I would barge in with my theatrics and sometimes that would make her laugh.

I did not wish for existence. None of my desires belong to me.

8.40 for my aches. Living is dead expensive. 

I am seventeen. You accept this but choose to ignore it. Speaking of ignorance, I chose not to be dumb today. You are pathetic. It bores a tiny hole in my black, cold heart of stone to say this, but you are pathetic sometimes. You leave me no choice but to feel angry and humiliated for the choice I didn't make.

I will talk in riddles my whole life if it needs be that way. Deal with it.

since you don't read, and it is most probably the sweetest thing I know.

you are so fucking sweet.

Fuck you and your remarks. You fucking lowlife.

Fuck is a nice enough word for all occasions. Prudes may plead to differ but what do I fucking care?