Filth (Approval)

As an absolutely redundant resident I am presented to this utter leech of an individual (I want to call her a whore, but she’d never pass.)

Strangely, she’s that woman I always talked about, the one who is 700lbs, on welfare, and has a million children. In the early days of the internet when people asked who I was I professed to be that woman so they would get off my ass.

There’s nothing sexy about a pool of jizz-bound ones, and zero’s.

Her head looks like a fucking giant watermelon with about six million chins (I exaggerate, but the wrench she gives off directs me that way automatically.) If she is the bitch to answer to, then to be below her in rank? Disgusting entity.

Wonder? Even though I now have the ability to actually get people “lost.”

I now have the ability to feed into every insecurity like the leech sucking blood in the excerpts of madness of the 1800’s.

1800’s (interesting.)

I assert this back to my graphic (and by graphic I mean uninvited anal rape calling someone “Daddy” novel.) Thinking about the odor the breath it probably gives off.

Interestingly, it’s not the actual odor, it’s the odor it omits due to the way less than any humanistic value. Less than a slug, less than slime, less than the wretched pool of jizz the entire crew will drown under when they realize that as a result of it they have no sex at all.

Have no use in this environment…

I’m surprised, surprised you would take it to this fucking level with anyone who DARES call themselves a Fallen Angel (or a Demon if you will.) The lack of necessity is just downright disgusting. It makes me want to vomit, but I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’ll teach how to.

This is the woman who is going to “approve.”

In exactly what fucking way “my lord.” In what way is she going to approve of any of my behavior especially the fact that I have done magnanimous acrylic brush paintings on walls, and decide to FORGET how incredible I am to run with the crowd. (It seems many have, it seems many think the crowd is where they belong, and NOT where to stand out.)

Strangely, it’s no longer the crowd created. It’s a crowd which has taken on a life of its own, A life where I don’t exist, and the presents (oh yes the presents) I have sent are invisible. I find it so hard to understand how suddenly I don’t fucking exist when I do. I’m real, flesh, blood, eyes, nose, mouth, perhaps inhuman completely humanistic traits.

I hurt,

I feel,

I love,

and now, now I hate.

In my mind (yes IN there) I have called “my filth” for a while. It has made love to me in so many ways, and is so fucking passionate, and incredible. I understand the confusion. If getting a SECOND of what I experience flashing through the mind waves are, of course, going to panic. Panic leads to destruction, my little scapegoat decides to completely self-sabotage, over, and over, and over.

Panic sets in so easily, so ridiculously when you experience true blood feast filled fear.

I don’t have, I don’t want, I know how I feel, but I am waiting for approval?

Approved months ago, who the fuck is this ugly bitch before me?

Also, before starting give me some superficial altruistic bullshit, I’m a fan of women who are beautiful.

Ugly is an inside job, ugly happens before it manifests itself physically.

<to be continued…>

Part 3 – Filth – The Writer

 

Creative Commons License
This work by LeeLee is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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