Caption 5: V-Day sucks so bad I don't even have the strength to lift my finger.
The club made me sad last night. I saw fairies and nymphs dance over the grave of a dancing queen long since expired.
I used to get right up in the cages.
Now, for some reason, I was too shy. And all of the regulars had gone away, apparently I am the last to turn 21.
There was a girl there that I had crushed on for a long time, and even though I hadn't been to that club in three months, I recognized her right off. So I figured, what the fuck, it's the apocalypse, go for it.
So I stood on the sidelines for like an hour until I approached her. She was soooo hot. She looked just like Natalie, but toned. So we danced and talked for a while, and she then told me she used to work for a sex club but that she didn't remember most of it because of all the drugs.
We danced for a little while longer and then she ran off with some friends.
My friend Nick told me to go after her and that I was being judgemental for not wanting to hook up with someone who used to work at a sex club. I told him that was just asking to get Hepatitis C.
I looked around and saw young babydykes getting their first kisses in the corner and I remembered that not too long ago, I was one of them. I thought, "Enjoy yourself tonight, because in a year or so you'll be a ruin of what you used to be."
If I could roar back into the past, to a little girl in big pants and spikey hair, what would I say? "Turn back?" "Everything you believe in is a lie?"
She'd laugh and call me a pessimist. Say that things would work out differently for her because she believes in positivity.
I hate what I have become and what I will continue to be. I went home and cried until I fell asleep because I realized, soberly:
I will never wake up to a woman again.
I will never bring her breakfast in bed again.
I will never have sex again.
I will never cradle her face in worship again.
I will never build sandcastles at the beach with her again.
Some girls have a problem with self-mutilation. I have a problem with self-mutilation of the mind. All I can do, for all of my follies in love, is hate and hate myself further every day, blame myself for everything, and tear everything apart inside because nothing ever changes on the surface.
I hate myself with such horror and violence that if I could project it onto a screen, nearly everyone would turn away.
I have hit a liquidation sale point in my life. All standards must go. I will prostitute my love to the lowest bidder, give myself to anyone who wants to take me home.
There was a time, when I knew those finer things.
Not anymore. Nobody will take me out to the beach or nice restaurants ever again. Realizing this doesn't give me much of a will to go on. I'd rather die than date 17 more women that are meaningless.
The club made me sad last night. I saw fairies and nymphs dance over the grave of a dancing queen long since expired.
I used to get right up in the cages.
Now, for some reason, I was too shy. And all of the regulars had gone away, apparently I am the last to turn 21.
There was a girl there that I had crushed on for a long time, and even though I hadn't been to that club in three months, I recognized her right off. So I figured, what the fuck, it's the apocalypse, go for it.
So I stood on the sidelines for like an hour until I approached her. She was soooo hot. She looked just like Natalie, but toned. So we danced and talked for a while, and she then told me she used to work for a sex club but that she didn't remember most of it because of all the drugs.
We danced for a little while longer and then she ran off with some friends.
My friend Nick told me to go after her and that I was being judgemental for not wanting to hook up with someone who used to work at a sex club. I told him that was just asking to get Hepatitis C.
I looked around and saw young babydykes getting their first kisses in the corner and I remembered that not too long ago, I was one of them. I thought, "Enjoy yourself tonight, because in a year or so you'll be a ruin of what you used to be."
If I could roar back into the past, to a little girl in big pants and spikey hair, what would I say? "Turn back?" "Everything you believe in is a lie?"
She'd laugh and call me a pessimist. Say that things would work out differently for her because she believes in positivity.
I hate what I have become and what I will continue to be. I went home and cried until I fell asleep because I realized, soberly:
I will never wake up to a woman again.
I will never bring her breakfast in bed again.
I will never have sex again.
I will never cradle her face in worship again.
I will never build sandcastles at the beach with her again.
Some girls have a problem with self-mutilation. I have a problem with self-mutilation of the mind. All I can do, for all of my follies in love, is hate and hate myself further every day, blame myself for everything, and tear everything apart inside because nothing ever changes on the surface.
I hate myself with such horror and violence that if I could project it onto a screen, nearly everyone would turn away.
I have hit a liquidation sale point in my life. All standards must go. I will prostitute my love to the lowest bidder, give myself to anyone who wants to take me home.
There was a time, when I knew those finer things.
Not anymore. Nobody will take me out to the beach or nice restaurants ever again. Realizing this doesn't give me much of a will to go on. I'd rather die than date 17 more women that are meaningless.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
Goddammit! I wanna be the most pessimistic member of this site, and if you cheer up the only competition I'll have is MrSatan (unless you bring up blowjobs, in which case Malphas always chimes in). I think I can take Satan, but it sounds like you have even less hope than I do right now... which is terrifying for me to even attempt comprehending!
Nick should lighten up. I say "brava!" for approaching her at all. I never would have been able to.
and when you say you will never do all those things again with a woman....if you mean a specific woman...and it seems so...then you may be right. But even *I* know better than to believe that you will never have those sorts of beautiful moments again.
this self mutilation you speak of reminds me of a term I apply to myself on occasion : emotional masochism. it's like drawing the baldes across your skin to make yourself bleed and hurt....but on a different level.
nearly everyone would turn away.....nearly....but not everyone. ok..some are just freakos delighting in the pain of others....but most left are those who can watch the movie...sit through the credits...wait for the reel to end and the lights to come back up and still give you a hug.
fine things will come again. you betcha that fine ass.
I have a couple friends who are wrecks and I, on occasion, function as thier egocopter mechanic.
you are stronger than either of them...so I won't bother playing that role to you.
no matter how dim you feel, you are still one of the brightest stars I know....and I am still taking you out for coffee and ice cream or whatnot when I get out there. so don't even think otherwise! :p
*hug*
and for good measure *H-U-G!!!!*
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