To Be A Marquis of Happiness
Time never stood still as I would have wanted. Even for a second a huge difference it may incur.
The mornings stay stagnant, lazy, and unwilling cooperation lingers like oil in water.
The music enlightens the view, Man Gave Name To All The Animals, too much relaxation and not much effort pushed. Still on the buff, and strong smell clogging the nostrils from the gamma radiations.
Typical Thursday, no.
Unwashed dishes from the night before, bones and plastic glass, not a sign of productivity. Noises from the window beside me tickle, as if they drew me into the equation, into the madness of what's beyond that. What is beyond that is the goal. Two ways. Love or life.
The salty tears from her masturbating finger drip from her vibrating Mr. Pinkie. She shows me her smile again, then her breasts, and she touches them, and shakes them manically. Turns around to show her ass cheeks.
Where the fuck is my erection?
She smiles and turns towards me, making funny faces and giggling.
Flaccid. Flaccid. Flaccid.
She gives me an airy smooch, touching only my heart, meaning spiritually. Is physical contact too much to ask? Her Android 19 cheeks says yes, her Top Cat says yes, miles and miles away says hell fucking no. Slacks making me tight, giggling continues, perseveres. Must not resort to drastic art.
She'd never tell me her love, despite giving head, sucking and slutting herself. Pisses me off. How do I attain erection then? This lack of pedigree, it pisses me the fuck off. It increases the desire to defenestrate her naked, castrate myself and feed on my own bleeding cock.
Whereas I would take the other path is another story. Success or failure, and that's it. Gotten used to that idea by now. I herewith announce my only choice and desire.
I choose nothing. Happiness in the heat of the moment. In my case, lunch.