I turn around one minute and I have another blog? O_O /twitch
Alright, I got things straight there though, I dunno what to write here except for my entries to FF.net. T_T
I so fail right now in whatever because all I can focus my obssession powers on is math. MATH, people! Calculus loves me. Jk.
Let's try writing now,
Because I said so...
Because I neglected what I knew from the beginning... I get into this mess. It really is a mess, huh? Well. That's something to tell me Grandkids, if I ever get them.
Rambling like an old man already, eh? I wonder if he's rumbling like a loon, too. Something about our jobs are just that fucking perfect all the time. Perfection is not within human grasp though, we still fight for justice to be done for all of us. For all that would be. Now, I'm in the past, and Wright's there. Fighting.
Though, what is he fighting for now? The cop who's luck is close to non-existent? Butz? The weasel got out of my hands, not because of slick--that's Trite's job.
The rain falls out side and the cell echos with the darkness from all men once they see no light and feel aggravation. Just those and nothing more. Then, they're left there to be smothered underneathe all that as it grows exponentially with the darkeness' echoes of denial, regret, and longing. Longing for only one thing. Though, there are several ways to achieve so, one is clear as the daylight that never existed once the curtains were drawn and the bolts locked in place. This world was created. The stretched corridors are lined with various shades of gray pitching to black, never white. And, the walls are stirred from eternal smoothness with scratches, cells, and dents. Some arms lay in sight from the outside of their cells and some keep to themselves.
All cells were designed to be dismall and dank with wretchedness, but there were men that made their presence known to their quarters and kept to themselves and then the room would spill those men's auras and they weren't as dank. They were horrible to be in, as all their melancholy floods your senses. Though, nothing is our of place. All smells agreeable and the sight is ubiquitous. Nevertheless, it is unnerving to be in a room where men think.
Insanely me ;)