Alas, I am a big gay

"Little red riding cat," My mum smiles at my blanket clad form as she prods at the cheese stuck to the toastie machine. My sandwich had exploded but she wasn't making me clean it since I looked so pathetic. I'm speaking too fast, too much like when I'm drunk or I'm going to cry. I lost track of my point a while back but I keep going and she gives me a look. Then I fell into the chair and pointed at some vague spot before me. "Blurry. Ow." Fuzzy squares encroach on my sight like a TV slowly losing reception. Sorry for the interruption but programming is finishing early tonight due to technical difficulties. Pain settles above my left eye and before I crash I wave a piece of paper in front of my mother.

"I wrote a poem."

It was partly to blame for the brain melting agony that shifted and swung violently with every step. But I made it to bed safe and sound. No, not safe. I writhe and curl up into a ball. I hate these. Most any pain I can handle if I try but headaches break me. I shut my eyes, try not to move and hope that when Julie goes to bed, she does so silently. No light, no noise, no movement. Don't even think too much. Don't shake the beast. My nose itches but the hand that moves to scratch it is gone. Lost all feeling. I panic. Panic moves the pain, I bit my lip to keep from crying out and I realise I can't feel it either. Slowly and yet suddenly the buzzy fuzzy awful spreads to half my face and I'm erased. I throw my head back and the pain is electric; she lives!

This is why I'm not the biggest fan of verse.

Now here's some reasons why I am dreadfully poor:


I bought art! From Perfect Stars if you are wondering, there's a link in my link list I'm sure. Not great pics but I was excited and sleepy and my proper camera broke a while back.