Bones made of love

Fancies were tickled, but no one actually bothered checking to see whether or not I would last another month under cold and miserable duress. The army of slugs were upon me day and night, as if my next day migraine was caused by a stray, microscopic infant slug who had lost its way. It saddens me to think my demise would be caused by an irreparable factor such as this. Perhaps it is a long shot, one that I am willing to ignore for now in order for me to enjoy what is left of my life outside the threat of constant paranoia.

I cannot even leave this McDonald's now. I have just consumed food once again without exercising in return. What form would my physical beside my countenance have in store for Miriam come December when she lands her gaze upon mine? It would be tremendously embarrassing. One that I hope to downplay for fear of disappointment. Once again I come across the threshold of falling in love like a maniac. A few weeks ago Miriam had told me of her brother's fears that I may end up being as such, a maniac. Well, it is not the first time I will exhibit such tendencies. But I digress, there is a fundamental requisite for me to rest, as my hedge of slugs await me with such vile contempt. There is something else that I need to do despite the fact that my failure in keeping arduous jobs remain constant. It is the only thing left that has remained the case; my short journey Ping Pong is the fifth or sixth in line with the same result in a span of, what, three months? Sweet Christmas.

I have fourteen minutes left before I forcepush myself to walk back to my hedgehome. By then it will be a short walk from the McDonald's across High Street Kensington station. The sky will soon melt back to milky white a few minutes from now. The darker it is when I get back, the better. My challenge is to push me away from the desire to partake in more sinful vices, such as wasteful cigarettes. It pains me to admit that my once pride has now been overtaken. It has already been a year, and I have stuck with very little gain. Mother help me. Homelessness is a cruel thing. If there ever was one thing I could not tell Miriam without cringing hard from the hardship, it would be this. Yes, yes, she likes me, and yes, yes, she would care less, but I have learned an awful lot in my relationship with Mioseon to know that honesty is careless abandon whose only intent is to sway us to a more preferable path. Honesty will bow to no man nor woman, much less if the intention to utilise it was mainly to sway favour towards yourself. Fuck honesty!

Three minutes left to go. Might as well get myself going. My head is beginning to spiral out of control. Tomorrow should provide me more time to spin my head even more with thoughts of December; what to do, where to go, and how to fucking live my life properly.

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