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Fucked Up College Kids File 520
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Alongside the stranger in myself
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God, look at this. Such a long day. Long week. Life. Second. Was that a
second? God, they're too slow. Fuck. Fatigued like I've been at war for
years, but what have I done recently? I slept 'til 10 today... Shouldn't be
tired... Damnit. <sigh> But then, maybe I HAVE been at war for years.
Guerrilla warfare. Gorilla warfare? Manila war fairs? God, so tired. God, SO
TIRED...
There's so many of them... People. My adversaries, even when not
acquainted. I want to talk to her. And him. And that girl who seems to be
on the verge of tears. And that guy with the bleached-blond hair and the
Propagandhi shirt. But their heads all look away from me... I just made eye
contact with that girl, and she looked instantly away - as though put in a
position she didn't want to be faced with. You! Yeah, you, you bitch! Avoid
me...what disease do you take me for? No, you're right, I AM a disease.
Quarrantined like an infested rat. I should go back to the sewers. I live in
the sewers. My mind...what a fucking septic trammel. Fuck all of this.
Fuck you, too. Yeah, you. Sure, don't talk to me. But I didn't talk to you.
You look so beautiful, though. God, I want to talk to you. I want it so
much. I want to fuck you - no, I just want to talk (fuck!) -- NO! TALK!
(FUCK!)....<sigh>......If they only knew what I went through. That there
was a heart inside me just as capable of bleeding as the next...more so,
perhaps, as how could theirs be as lacerated as mine? They all sit there
and talk to each other and
laughsmilewavegiggletalksharespeakgazehugkisslove while I'm over here in
this dank corner choking on my emaciated emotions and trying not to cry
with my only companions being my thoughts. If they only understood- They DO
understand, they don't care. They know all about it. They can read your
thoughts. They can read your thoughts!
Fuck you, no they can't. Yes they can. Ohmigod, they can. No they can't.
FUCKER! You're laughing at me, aren't you? Laughing 'cuz I don't know if
you can read my mind or not. Laughing at my internal debates you RAT-FIEND!
FUCKING SHIT-SCUM FUCKER! No, he can't read my thoughts. Neither can she.
They don't know. Their faces are too placid and naive. No, they're just
pretending. They all pretend. They're all tricking you, you dumb shit!
You're swallowing the hook so deep that they'll never get it out!! Dumb
bastard. What are you doing? Fucker. All of you. All of me! I'm such a
piece of shit, why don't I die? I don't want to live. I don't want to die.
I don't want /shut the fuck up! I want it all. I want nothing. Kill me,
dammit. Fuck me, dammit!
I want your lips gyrating around my erect and stiff dick. Suck me dry; suck
out all the pain and emptiness. Make me feel free and good. NO! I just want
to talk. I want...I don't...know what I want. Fuck me.
FUCKMEFUCKMEFUCKMENO!!!!! I want to talk. Nothing more. I want sex. Just to
talk. Talk with sex. Walk with Mex. Never been to Mexico...Tex Mex. Tex
Rex. The Far Side is funny. It sucks sometimes. I want to fuck it. What?
NO! NONONONONONONOONNONOONONO!!!!!
STOP IT! STOP! I wish I could just cut that piece of my brain out. That
little perverse piece that thinks of nothing but sex while observing a girl
- even when I don't want it. That piece that randomly places the word
"nigger" into my head when I look at/think about black people even though I
hate racism. I abhor myself. I am not myself. I have no self.
I want to fuck myself. THAT MAKES NO SENSE! FOR GOD'S FUCKING SAKE, STOP
IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No, not for God's sake. God doesn't fuck, there's no need
for anything to be for the sake of it. For God's sake. He fucks. He fucks
hard. He wants to fuck you. NO! WHAT? NO! NO NO NO!
GODDAMMITTNOAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!
And she just looked farther away. She moved her leg out of my field of
vision, under that chair. She hates me! She can read my thoughts and they
disgust her and she hates me! But only if I look at her can I read them. No
all the time. You're always looking at someone, and when they read your
mind, they communicate telepathically with each other to discuss how much
they hate you. They hate you. You're a fuck. Fuck you. Me. The bird. That
tree. STOP RHYMING! Jesusfuckingchrist, why are you doing this? You're me!
Why am I doing this? Why am I me? Why? What twisted fiend would do this to
me? Why? Who? How? Fuck.
Never. Shut up. No one cares. They don't care. Stop bothering them. But I'm
just thinking it...And they can read my thoughts - shit, they hate me more
now! More because I'm irritating them with my incessant confusion. They're
laughing at me! LAUGHING! FUCK YOU. LAUGH AT ME LIKE THAT. FINE. BE LIKE
THAT! Be like that... Leave me alone to regret myself and pine for arms.
For soft, gentle, kind but strong arms that can fill the vacuousness and
dam rivers. And dry rivers out to no more than memory. To fix what they can
reach, and give me the strength to fix what they cannot.
Before my mind kills me, someone please extend their hand...
-agrajag
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