I stared at the leaking ceiling.
It's a pretty ceiling, but there are water leak marks and moth evidences.
Everything pretty is multiplied its magnitude by at least twice the size at my stance right now.
The feeling of hatred and petrifying anger towards things you don't want to leave behind.
People you never want to disappoint, but did nevertheless.
I turned on the light and opt for the lamp with the not-energy-safe bulbs. Its light's subdued, barely lit anything and it both costs and damages earth more.
Yet I refuse to care right now.
Today's decline needs its fair portion of acquisitiveness.
Its own inconsiderate power-gobbling bulbs.
I looked down to the corner in front of my house.
I'm waiting for someone running his car off the kerb and askew straight to this house I'm in. Better still, right at my wait.
I've always fond of imagining and formulating schemes on how I'd someday die.
Who would be around, how much blood would gush out. How would it beautifully trickle down my face. Whether i would be endowed with a major hemorrhaging on my head.
As any cause of death is worth mulling over.
Although a sword stab is by far the most desirable off-the-road death. Like there's an added archaic feel to it.
Though, my number one death-plan is quite undeniably being blown up and/or falling of a south italian cliff in a tuned red Ferrari F40 (1991). Or a F430 Spider. Anything vintage would be too much of a waste. I'd be dead before i cared but, old Ferraris are like children I'll never have.
Yet an F40.
I've always liked that car since i was 10 so it'd be natural to want to die in one.
wouldn't it?
