unrest

gonna be something craze to jeopardise my restless soul. arching my back in the stilth of the night, engines purring - tiger-like, i randomly searched for my cigerettes hidden amongst my cosmetics and wide array of junk. a social stigma.

Gawd i hate the moment peek-a-boo, peeking through the side mirrors only to realise, a complete disgust. perfectly shaped eyebrows accompanied with cleanly designer-like goatee. why is he beside me? get out of here NOW!

dragging in the thick intoxicating fumes into my blackened lungs, soughting comfort & refuge, pretending nonchanlancy, joking whilst contemplating a break through the lock doors of Hell.

jostling myself up, arms outstretched, feeling seemingly like always - fat & obese, yet trying to exude confidence - every male gets weak around confidence, in reality - physically worned-out, dragging my buckling knees towards the loo, letting out as much as a morning's tide can, pulling back my hair tidying it carelessly.

said i look good with my hair loosely picked from my face, strands dangling - like a market chix. honey words as such falls deaf to my already resounding ears. why the "blingbling" language, you're just out for fun anyway.

i'm undeniably attracted to a good's man goatee as hard as i try to rebuke the silent longing for a sexy belly button adorned with roughly grown pubic hair below it. oh god.

when enquired from the other about affairs of the heart, i dodged and diverted away from it. better to be having to repress my depression. already the bar was smoked till buzzing irritants couldn't find their way around. no point hiding behind naked burning tears, all the more unworthy if wad i had in front for the moment, was a sexy beard.

gliding fingers across the pokey stiff bristles, feeling my heart shudder at the thought of past deeds, i desirably earned myself a trip down the loner's lane. as good as being starstruck, having guys scoop me up just to breathe their foul-smelling breath into my bare neck, twisting and turning them around my fingers - puppets in a mock play. fidgeting, squirming, unable to let loose.

whats the every regular compliment loosely held in an average man's tongue?
"u've got sexy legs.. u're gorgeous babe in that mini"

fuggers i deemed them - socially unrest, disturbed? ironically chastied in this open society? the female fragrant they sniff out for, like a horny dirtbag, even from miles away. chasing skirts, peeping freaks, resilient players muffling up their gags for the next victim.

poor souls of naive pussies.

never a win-win situation. one's bound to lose in any way around. the winner - whoever reigns the powercard.