title

sad and sentimental, there is a curse.

Never eat off the tree of knowledge, it's damnable and unkind. The sky is beautiful, but blue; never forget that. The whole world is your oyster, in the morning, when you first wake up and the flaming bits of consciousness come to greet you with familiarity. At first breath it is as if God created the light, there was nothing besides exactly what was. You may rub your eyes, and guess at the time judging by the hue of light coming through the blinds of your window. 

I was young once; I suppose I still am, but it doesn't seem it. The days drag on subtly, but on the surface they are placid as a smooth lake.  I'm friends with everyone and they are kind people, accepting as I am liberal minded. I like these people from the depths of my bloody heart, their company keeps me sane usually. Their company at least keeps my ego as healthy as my psychologist wishes it to be. I'm unhealthy, see, and sometimes people can see it. They can see through the paint of everyday, beyond that Maya and the laughs, the quirky humor and their own ulterior motives, it seems. 

If life was the survival of the fittest my genes are on self-destruct. Maybe I haven't evolved. I've sublimated my desires into art so far into the deep end of sexual politics that they're almost mystic. The modern attire asserting itself with the cold sterility of a scientist never bid me any happiness. I'm attracted to sad russian novels and godless artistic b*****s who would never deal me a chance. I'm soft as the amorphous clay that can be composed into a victorian model with the right hands, but nobody wants to exert that love. I could never tell her that I love her, it makes me all sad inside. Sad that it won't work out nearly as I've planned. Sad that it never works out, that my deflated ego is often right.

Author's Note

if it sounds like a teen's ramblings, it's because it is; sorry for that.
reviews would be wonderful and always returned, but im not pushing anything.