Filth (Peons)

Literally pissed on daily, by the inertia they “pretend” to have are the “peons.”

Their entertainment is checking the post, or stuffing envelopes, or more often simply pretending as though they are something they are not.

They may be cute, at least in “the audiences” eyes, however.

I can see the green envy dilute into their slobbery second hand drinks full of date rape drugs (but they like them.) Interestingly, they pretend they are the cream of the crop, they think they are the most important. The ignorant nonsense which should be the most recognized (the odor is revolting.)

They hide behind anger, something they seethe with, something they reserve for words like regret, fuck, and cunt.

Bitch, yes, they are astounding bitches. However, someone who would accept that word upon themselves is incredibly lost. Only a bitch is opening her fish-spread-legs for any guy around who will give her what she wants.

I see them staring, looking for prey. Attempting to plot demise forgetting to profess crimes of molester, and rapist.

We all know, however, I sit in silence.

I’m the one with the remote outbursts who likes to lurk in the shadows in the night.

I hate to be watched, I hate to paint in front of people.

I paint in the dark with the lights off outside. I paint, currently, in the homes of the abandoned. I paint on the homes where I grew up. Advantage taking has never been a forte.

Regret, what a fucking laugh, I’ve grown up with nothing but a LACK of regret. All of the mistakes I’ve made have even been incredibly competent. There is a million dictionary definitions to every word. This only leads to the incept that every sentence, every thought, every desire, every tattoo, has a million different reasons.

If I can walk away with a twisted skull such as this from an “armed robbery.”

Imagine what I can do with a little dildo.

A beautiful, ribbed, glass one which I shove maliciously into filthy skulls. I remind him of my vaginal scent, and he probably cums all over his “you don’t understand” trousers at work as if he has no fucking care.

Reform? and then have the nerve to have an orgasm in front of people, of course.

Married, I hear, but maybe not.

A disgusting unworthy tramp, but something in me detests that to the level that I hate it.

Puke once more, I know, interesting that puke becomes a part of the issue.

My wife, however, wants to puke all the time. Nothing else. Her bulimia is completely out of control. All she wants to do is puke… “for me.”

She teaches rightly.

I miss her, it’s been so long since she left, with that ONE guy, and he started to beat her in my mind. I watch, cynically, while I try to be attentive, and courteous to people.

It’s only a matter of time before they embarrass the living shit out of themselves, and go into the pit of sloppy seconds passed around.

It’s disgusting, it’s like a giant artistic orgy, a really bad stencil work which lends no artistic credit at all. Yes, the smell is real to all of us.

The smell is so real they choose to ignore so disgusting, so raw, so fucked up you love it when I insult.

Embarrassingly, go back to the watermelon head, writer, or another place one a “social” network.

Start yelling, screaming like a four year old who eats nothing but banana’s. Don’t worry, I’m sure the pictures of me still exist, somewhere.

They should be a shit dispensary. I know they should be. Go ahead, create a socio-economic environment where this kind of bullshit goes on. How could one exist within it? These Peons think they are anything, BUT a malfunctioning array of pawns.

Sometimes people think that I am playing chess. That I maneuver individuals into place on a board, and shadily watch them battle J. K. Rowling style. That’s not true.

Within my head all bets are off, if someone remotely threatening is in my head, I have every right to retaliate mentally.

Realistically, I am nothing but quiet, waiting, hoping that nothing but safety results. My name even indicates it, my name represents the “safe place” on a boat. Interestingly, safety is something I’m constantly concerned about.

I was free a few days ago.

Now I feel as though, once again, I’ve been done, and set them off.

Unfortunately, you’re too unintelligent for any other than blatant attack. Let anger get it’s way? Don’t think about what they are doing before they do it.

Expecially where matter of the heart, and business filthy cash is concerned.

Again, the scum on the moldy Alfredo one has in the refrigerator.

(In fact, stick your head in there, see how badly it smells, and proceed to jerk off.)

I’m not the guy who phones 911 to be both the police, and the criminal.

I understand it’s hard to pick a side my darlings.

<…continued>

Part 5 – Filth – Bitches 

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

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