Status: Every so often I get inspired, but it's slow going :S
The Stories Of The Inanimate
Madman's torment
There I am, completely blank, and he is just waiting.
For what? No one knows, its a common doubt that he himself has any idea.
Maybe he expects me to finish his "work" for him. Not ever going to happen, even if anyone knew what his work was in the first place.
"I wish you would do it yourself!"
Do what? No one knows, its a common doubt that he himself has any idea.
"I don't know what to do, what am I going to do?"
No one knows, its now a common fact that he himself has no idea.
"I wish I was Einstein, then... I wouldn't have to worry about this shit," he shouted, guestering wildy, knocking over everything that wasn't bolted down.
He's crazy, insane, mad, totally mental. Damaging everything around him, expecailly me. Splotched purple and blue all over.
Every single tool, every single completed work, smashed and discoloured, like me, smashed and discoloured, like everything and everyone else he touches.
I have nothing. No colour, no personality, no feelings. All because of him... Well, mostly because of him. This is what I am, Nothing.
I don't mean anything to anyone.
I am just a blank canvas, waiting for my Piccasso to begin his work
For what? No one knows, its a common doubt that he himself has any idea.
Maybe he expects me to finish his "work" for him. Not ever going to happen, even if anyone knew what his work was in the first place.
"I wish you would do it yourself!"
Do what? No one knows, its a common doubt that he himself has any idea.
"I don't know what to do, what am I going to do?"
No one knows, its now a common fact that he himself has no idea.
"I wish I was Einstein, then... I wouldn't have to worry about this shit," he shouted, guestering wildy, knocking over everything that wasn't bolted down.
He's crazy, insane, mad, totally mental. Damaging everything around him, expecailly me. Splotched purple and blue all over.
Every single tool, every single completed work, smashed and discoloured, like me, smashed and discoloured, like everything and everyone else he touches.
I have nothing. No colour, no personality, no feelings. All because of him... Well, mostly because of him. This is what I am, Nothing.
I don't mean anything to anyone.
I am just a blank canvas, waiting for my Piccasso to begin his work
♠ ♠ ♠
I hope you like this one... Its one that I really got into, I cant tell you how many I have started and not been able to finish, how many that I have had to force myself through the initial paragraphs, only to realise that that particular one is never going to get finished. So all these ones up here are specail in the fact that I really enjoy writing them.So, it makes it more important to me when I get feedback, tell me if you like it, tell me if you dont, and please, please, please, tell me if you could guess it, cus thats what I hope is the interesting part.