under my nose

oct 28, monday

under my nose

i’m the least person who will never rant about things but my spilling level has been reached and i just can’t suck it up anymore. i wanted to write it off, really let go of it and i believe writing about it would make me feel better. i’m hopeful.

this beast need not a name. i just can’t bear it. the gods i believe won’t bother to agree of it’s name day even.

i can be harsh, sometimes. so my rant starts here.

i hate it. i completely hate all about it. as i see it, it pushes me to go bad and i’d hate myself doing it because it’s really not me but i just can’t stand it anymore. the more that i try to brush it off and make things go about it, it just make things worse to worst. stinking hell, that’s what i will call its dungeon. this dark and moss covered dungeon, it’s a pigsty. you won’t even stand a chance going at it, worse look at it. it’s miserable. it absorbed all the stinking this place has. cover-ups seem to cloak it from disclosing its real smell when it goes out at this dungeon, not.

it’s as lazy as a sloth.

it’s been given life and brought to this world as if with a golden ticket that pays two dozen servants in cloaking it so that it won’t stink really like hell. it is living an imaginary world of comforts. it being squeamish on many other things seem to be unbelievable while living in a dungeon that’s full of its own filth. who are you joking with? you are a sloth, undeniably. it suits you perfectly.

this rant aged me ten years and i can’t bear the weight but it is making me feel better at this moment.

it has so many skins to cloak itself from that stinks but it doesn’t give a damn where these skins are hanged and dried. well, its imaginary dozen servants seem to not be doing their jobs. i would suggest to fire these servants. they’re really not a great help in cloaking it from its rotten egg smell. a century egg should seem to be ashamed but really, not. its smell is incomparable to such. it is a “century” old, technically a 100 days old egg, but it doesn’t smell like hell. sshh, someone ate it told me. i wouldn’t dare though.

i pity it. i pity the one who brought it up to this world. how could it pass an attitude like that worth of not being under ones nose. well, birds of the same feather, flocks together. this beast underscores this quote, bullseye. yes, that red spot.

my body hairs sizzle everytime i get the chance to walk past its dungeon. that sudden whiff of air you make when you walk puffs that stinking rotten egg smell of it. i would need an oxygen tank for fresh air. my stomach crumbles and i want to puke.

it likes drinking the best of wines too but it doesn’t have the hands to fetch and keep those goblets and flutes crystal clear. i would want to vanish into thin air seeing those long stem crystals get rugged and chipped off from its dungeon. those doesn’t fit in the dungeon, a bronze or copper ones definitely will survive the place’s moss laden floor and walls. eerie.

i’m ashen. i wish time would pass by quickly so that i will no longer have to stay in this eerie wind tower where the dungeon keeps incognito its monstrous stinking corpse. there, i would really want to stuck a crowbar into its head to give its death, like a walker, but that’s impossible. i am not that horrible. i want to see it suffer a slow death. now, i am being morbid. i hate myself now but i’m feeling loose and relaxed.

i can only say so much. totally it is a sucker in keeping its wind tower cozy and neat. more so, it created its own deathbed, the dungeon perfectly suits it well. it has lived a thousand days in it, a million days wouldn’t be so bad. after all, it will be alone, damned, and miserable. goldent tickets in the barrel empty fast to pay those imaginary two dozen servants. they won’t last.

good luck. may the gods approve on your side.

i rest my case. my rant ends here.



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