He makes me wanna put my foot in his ass. that greasy, twisted face of his, bloated and flushed from the meth. I hate him. I do not appreciate coming home to a long day at work to a note about two fucking blankets that HIS friend left in my room months ago. He left me one this morning. I DO NOT ACCEPT NOTES FROM THE LAME BITCH WITH WHOM I LIVE. he's a punk bitch. You don't speak to me bitch. You can't say words If he has been in my room I may fuck him up! I have got to get the fuck out of here. not because he bothers me. it's not JUST that... it's because i want to FUCK HIM UP!!!
I would just move but who has the immediate cash for that in THIS town. I actually thought about moving home... then I hit the trees and that thought floated away. I have these visions of me with my knee in his fucking throat just pounding his face in. I should call the fucking police on his cracked out ass. I just need to focus on not choking him to death. I should not have to pay his ass a dime. I'm not paying him rent... aha.... it hit me in a flash.... you want me out, tweaker? No problem... for me.
Oh W
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2 comments:
Wow... It's really unfortunate that you have to deal with something like this. Your home is supposed to be a safe haven, a place where you feel comfortable and loved and you're not in a space to receive that from yourself. It's most unfortunate. I say, CALL THE PARENTS!
You know, Proxiblue, thanks for acknowledging what a safehaven home is supposed to be. I have not called the parents because the jerk is 36 and so conceited that if we, his only real friends/family can't help him, he just needs to help himself. I really hope he doesn't end up pushing a shopping cart down the street muttering to himself...it's not a good look.
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