No. Yeah, it fuckin' scares the hell out of me. It scares me that a friend of mine who once said, 'You always seem to take the easy way, Peter. You seem to never give yourself enough credit. You seem to just be afraid of failing,' is right. I don't take chances in my life. I am fuckin' scared of failing. Failing at anything, I try in my life. I don't take chances, because I am too scared.

I am scared that I won't make anything out of my life.

I am scared that of riding a fuckin' rollercoaster. I am scared of never writing and publishing a book. I am scared I won't have grandkids. I am scared I won't have kids. I am scared I will never get married. I am scared I will never find love. I am scared I will die alone. Love can't exist. I refuse to believe it does. Complacency exist. Love needs to be reinvented. It has to be. It's been fuckin' milleniums since love was started. People have changed since then, love should have changed since then. It can't be that I have lived for practically two fuckin' decades and haven't loved, or, rather been in love with; a girl.

I have never once in my life felt like I was looking a girl in her eyes and knew, just you know, fuckin' knew that she was feeling the same thing I was; like there is no other place she would rather be. Unless of course, she was looking at me as I was inside her. Erm, scratch that, she probably wished I was either someone else, or maybe, just maybe, she even wished she was somewhere else. I should boast about my sexual experiences they were nothing amazing. Every girl was the exact same thing as the last. NOTHING SPECIAL. So, why the fuck should I think I was something special.

I wish I had one experience in my life that was special, or at the very least something, anything, that was significant to me with a girl. My biggest fear isn't dying in my sleep; it's dying alone, with no one next to me in my sleep. My biggest fear isn't to not ever reproduce; it's to not have grandkids for my mother to see. I love my mother.

Rant over.

FIN.

Five Dollar Foot Long

Five Dollar Foot Long

Try to remember the moment when all the stupid innocent things you thought about life and love, all the things you thought mattered, all the things you thought were true... try to remember when they all turned out to be lies.

A lot of really intense things have been happening to me lately, it's hard to control them all. It's hard to decifer what is really going on, and what I've been making up. I have been convincing myself that I had feelings for this one girl, and when her and I hung out it was fun. Just plain wholesome fun. She has a nice smile, it's exotic. When she looks at me with her eyes, it's filled with promises and hope. They are faulty and misleading and I don't trust her. I don't have any real feelings for her and she isn't right for me either. But, she activily wants to spend time with me, and it makes me want to give her a chance. That's so strange to me. I want to spend time with a girl out of flattery, that, she thrusts upon me, by wanting to be around me. She is extremely dull and bleak. Our conversations don't go as far as I'd like them to. She is incapable of entertaining me in any other manner or then sexual or physical. But, my G*D is she entertaining sexually.

FIN.

Can you just do it?

Can you just do it?

The man who kicked the crap out of me resembled an artist. He was like Da Vinci and I was his Sistine Chapel. His fists being the brush; that he so gracefully used. My face being the canvas; that he slaved over to cover every part. My blood was his paint to mess with, and my teeth being the turpentine to this his paint from spewing out of my mouth. Each blow hurt less, than the one that came before it, his brush numbing, and layering his canvas; with knots on my forehead and black and blues appearing moments after he'd connect with my face. I was in such pain. I crawled into a ball, gushing out waterworks.

I soiled myself. He broke my dignity.

When he did a final kick straight into my groin, I noticed him breathing heavy and I actually felt sorry for tiring him out. He then proceeded to wipe the sweat from his brow, and walked away, but, not before christening his masterpiece with a huge loogie that was spat right at my bruised cheek.

It hurt so bad. It hurt so fucking bad. I just stayed there on the ground choking on my own spit and tears, screaming out cries.

FIN.