Papier-mâché

Could I still stop myself from feeling and letting this wicked, inner bitch live inside me? Nevertheless, here you go: this is my mental imprint, my tiresome everyday; featuring my fucking compulsions. —— "what are you doing?" "typing and thinking..." "they have become your vice." "definitely. addictive!" "oh, wait," "what does 'vice' (\ˈvīs\) even mean for you?" "enunciate not!" "okay, i apologize..." "does it connote suffering?" "it does and it does not... personally" "w-what?" "it is a win-win, nonetheless"; "it's an indulgence!" "curse it; fuck it!" "i excuse my language!" "omg, 'i' was not capitalized! This should be consistent." "I excuse my language!" "ugh, finally; relieved!" "you are such an overreacting retard!" "oh, well, this is ir

“ Happy father’s day !” It reads; My hands shake as I happen to read it. A memento I hold with my hands; A memory that haunts. “ Will you forgive the bubbles that I made with my hands ?” I ask you. Displeased, you look at me; "Pop it! Strike it! Hit it!" You insist. I will not resist, father. I will not resist; for I have been your bloodline’s disgrace. Undress me, now; Ignite my skinny body, and shout, “‘Tis not the body of a man!” It’s alright, father; I won’t resist. Eat your scrumptious meal; Consume it wholly for it is served! Cramped, how do I breathe? Defeated, I beg for your prize; Strangled, I won’t despise! Stone me to my gradual death as I speak my beliefs, while you are cross-legged staring at my wholeness, And as you shame my todays as I flaunt it. “I curse you, filthy; we’ve to be men!” Talk me down; force me to worship your entirety! “Ave, ave, thy infallible strength!” Are my sins obliterated, now? Grant me for I speak your taught