So I had a go at finding some friends online to talk to, but it doesn't feel right. It's so hard to make friends, next time I'll know what to do. Don't write 26f, write 26 blah blah because I'm not looking for a relationship. I just want a friend I'm so lonely I just want to cry. Darling doesn't realise how overbearing I can become, using him as the sole human interaction I have. No i refrain from messaging him too much which is why I need to make friends. or find some other way of escaping the loneliness. I'm so sleepy. I didn't sleep much.

So you know that video of a seal slapping its belly hilariously, that is me when I come home from a late night at work, and slap my bloated belly heheh. I am a seal. Good god I love cute animals. 

It's the expression draining from my face. The groans escaping my lips. Retreating to my safe haven once more. This place is my santuary. I've grown weary. There are parasitic tendencies in this maternal treeline. It is destiny. My mother drains me, as her mother did, and as her mother did. Our mothers live very long yet dependent lives. Burdened with sickness at the third quarter point of life. I'm at the one third stage yet I feel as old as they do. Lacking funds and self sufficiency, I'm becoming one with the treeline. It's a curse in this family. What would you have me do to break free from this curse?

Darling, life is not all bad. I suppose. How can one complain when one has access to internet, fresh water, and food. No life is not bad. My spirit is about as vibrant as pond scum. It is good. Be one with the filth, and nature. Eternally stagnant.

The twinkle of wind chimes.

A giant pool splash.

The icy clink in a cold drink.

The solitary bliss of a shower.

Tearing the tape off a package.

The rustling of leaves in a lonesome hike.

The gentle thuds of another's heartbeat.

Turning a page.

The grace of stillettos walking on a fancy flooring.

The sound of stillness.

Swim, long boys, swim. Your statuesque bodies titilate my senses. Your pectorals glisten in the sun, as you simulate waves that move me. Jump boldly, and emerge from the blunderous attempts at replicating your rival's grace. Laugh hysterically and infectiously. Magical beings you become. Frolicking. In the water, you claim dominion. Deliciously delectable and salty on my palate. I look on with hunger. The bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I swallow pool water accidentally. It is so agreeably disgusting. But I stay, so I can perverse a little longer.

Endless refreshments of words.

Its seems that the idle key of my keyboard constantly resfreshes the page. Erasing what ever train of poetic thought I had. How irritable. But not as irritable as I am. I am who is to become a bride. But undesirable to my darling. He has grown tired of me, unattracted to my body, but remains attracted to my mind and mannerisms. This love is complicated. Love is no fairy tail. When he takes me, I am but a vessel to his unsatiated lust. His phone aids him to maintain his vigour. I feel I am disgusting to my darling. His browses idly through his phone for new and more attractive women. Is it pain I feel? Is it jealously? Am I the docile becoming of a domestic wife. Only so eager to please her husband. I worry of our fate. I do not claim that he does not love me. He loves me wholeheartedly. But his lust, his alter ego, finds me repulsive. I lay there as a moaning heap before you as you climax. Bent over me panting, as you regain your senses. Returning to the sensible darling that I love, and adore, and agreed to marry. 

You kiss my forehead affectionately. I wrap my sweaty paws around you as a motion of affection. I am at your disposal.

"Are you okay" you ask.

"I am fine" I say, feeling the trickle of you slowly seep from me. 

The pain. Glorious and lingering. Itching and numbing. I feel it creeping, seeping through me. Why must fickle words affect me? am I so tied to this world? When can I be free? Free of the dread that haunts me. Free of the burdens that burn me. Until the day I lay still, that is when I shall be free. Free myself I must. I must sever ties in order to be free. Ties of parentage. Ties of homelife that I've grown familiar to for the last 26 years. It is time for change. A change in this wind. The air has grown stale and mouldy. Like the room I sit in. Mould grows near me where I sleep, as cobwebs droop from its corners. This room is a reflection of my mind, of my current state. I am nothing but a collection of emotions, that sit festering in this embodiment of gluttony.