raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses.

June is up!

Alright June, be nice. Aaand June 1, 2, and 3, slow down, please.

five days later. (May 9)

I was conditioned. My ears were more than prepared to hear the fucking words. I’m sorry. You’re score is not enough to make it…or something like that. Sheesh. I’ve formulated my plans. I’ve envisioned the future. I was glad, and barely afraid, except for the very possibility that my parents might disown me or something. But hell no. That bugging day, that disorienting whisper…

You passed.

For a second I thought I heard a flatline. Somehow it was relieving, knowing that my parents wouldn’t reprimand me. But hell, I was not glad. Not a smile, just a simple thank you sir. Don’t even know what I was grateful about. There was not a reason to be happy. The one which is ready to give up, made it. Those which still want to carry on, for some reason, didn’t.

I know, many would kill to pass, but this is my perception. I’m getting tired. It’s not amusing anymore. Getting sadder by the minute. Pressure’s setting in. I’m not the board-taker type of person, especially this board, blabbing all about money and business and shit, which I don’t find much interesting. All I ever wanted was a degree and a slacky lifestyle, but I’ve come this far. I could shift anytime I want, if only my parents would just let me, and not bug my conscience all the way.

Oh fuck this. :|

Laptop

on lap. Tumblr on screen. Shirtless and indifferent. Pizza, cola and house mates all over the floor, cheering over an impeachment shiz on the television (which I couldn’t care less about). Sultry coziness. For one week, I’ll be living. THIS. IS. LIFE.

Loveless.

I’m loveless;

I feel nothing towards anybody,

Not a love for the eye not a heart to sigh.

Why?

For I have freed myself from the jellyish concoction

The sticky icky bit of the circulation

And no regrets

It feels good to be alive.

Does the moon ever regret putting the sun down?

Does the ocean ever regret swallowing the sun up?

I’ve rid of the flamboyant superstar

Shining on a daily basis;

I’ve disposed, but not quite.

And that, dear, reminds me: not quite.

For in the end the truth says it all,

I’d have to search for that sun again,

Or my moonlight won’t last for too long.