I’m not real. I am just an unfolding, fantastical, outlandish and absurd line of short stories that try to convert themselves into a novel cut up into a series, a motion picture but the film ends up flopping.
Ratings continuously dropping like the rain from the gray clouds I drew on the page to ruin my own day, not a ray of sunlight around, with heaviness abound I lay flat on the ground trying to lift this heavy crane off my heart.
And since I hate the consistent, like a raging rebel hates rules, I start again each day anew trying to stick to a plan, digging my own grave because I never can.
The six inch whole is finished and I jump into the abyss, not giving one, single, shit! Until one day I am driven to crawl out of this unmotivated pit where inbetweeners dwell, and procrastinators play with indecision like it’s their favorite game, she was the queen of the disorderly, and organizing chaos was her only claim to fame.
By Janell Hihi @Copyright 2017