Nice Guys Finish Last

-Randy Zelin (first picture reblogged from http://therealtopten.blogspot.com/)


You love her, don’t you?
Well don’t you?
You see those bright baby blues, and you can’t help but sigh.
How her wavy blonde hair spins around when she twirls, her dress taking just enough flight to make your breathing fairly heavy.
She makes your life just a little bit more poetic, doesn’t she?
So why the hell aren’t you going after her, you goddamn fool?
He makes her feel like absolute shit.
It kills you every time you see them together.
When he says he loves her, you know it’s just for the sex.
“All the other boys,” he says, “only cared if you put out. I love you. Let’s have sex, but whenever you’re ready.”
Lies.
Absolute and total lies.
You hear him drunkenly slur to his friends about your love.
“Damn, she’s so hot. And since she’s so shy, she’s probably a freak in bed.”
It angers you.
It angers the fucking hell out of you.
You want to shout back.
Scream out.
“Shut the hell up! You know what, that girl you’re talking about is beautiful, ridiculously kind, and the most amazing person on this whole goddamn planet. So you better back the fuck off before I mess you up.”
But you know you won’t say or do any of that.
You’re a coward, aren’t you, little boy?
Stay on the sidewalk, and Mommy always told you to never get in fights!
But haven’t you ever wanted to break out?
Run free?
Everyone has that impulse once in a while.
And it does not matter what fuels these fiery inclinations, whether it be love or loathing.
All that matters is that you satisfy these certain desires.
So go ahead, boy.
Become a man.
Use every underdeveloped muscle in your body to fight back the very monster that hurts your beloved.
It's okay; Mommy is never going to find out.

The Color of Friendship

Really?

I thought you were my friend.

My confidante, my closest companion.

You threw it all away, like an empty lipstick tube, once bursting with light pink.

The color of our friendship.

Not unlike the lipstick, you picked me up, took one last look, and tossed me in the trash.

Now, I see you with the clique of girls and boys we once envied, wearing the color of their friendship:

Light red.

A damask, sultry color.

Lips, as red as a dusty rose, speak harsh words now.

Piercing green eyes bore through my own dark blue ones.

But in those probing eyes, I see our friendship and the way they treat you.

They treat you like nothing.

Garbage.

Sounds familiar, does it not?

But I.

I can see your past.

Our little brawls that were never really fights, just small disagreements.

The hugs and kisses that were shared through thick and thin.

Tears.

Tears shed for each other.

For the pains, the losses, the supposed everlasting camaraderie.

It is surprising and a bit funny, really.

How one of the most beautiful things in the world, friendship, is best epitomized by tears.

Our emotions are raw when we are bawling; we are the most vulnerable.

We show the best passion when crying, and we cried a lot.

So I guess we have shown a whole lot of feeling in our little bond, have we not?

We wept happiness.

Dear Mr. Hyde

Yeah yeah, I know it isn't one of my best.
This isn't even going to be accompanied by a picture.
Don't judge.


You sicken me.
Your McCarthyistic views.
Your utter hypocrisy.
I cannot fucking deal with it anymore.
“You need to respect me. I’m your teacher.”
Bullshit.
You get what you deserve.
So respect me, you hypocritical fool.
My hands clammy, heart racing, I fight back.
I am trying to bring you down.
It is me against the world (the world being you).
But I am building up my allies.
We revolt.
This anger that is fueling us, pumping red hot through our veins, is turning into pure adrenaline.
You are the devil in a beard.
Put on a movie when you are tired; it is only a $34,000 education!
But you’re feelings, you’re narcissistic views, are all that matter.
You are nothing but a two-faced joke.
And you wonder why I call you Mr. Hyde.

Venom

“I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing.”
-The Wallflowers

Balenciaga bags, Hermes scarves.
The uniform of the venomous creatures.
Highly arched brows, waxed to perfection.
Straightened brunette or golden hair, done by Paolo at Blow.
Small, thin lips, coated with frosty, pink gloss by MAC.
These are the physical characteristics of the harpies.
The elite prep school that you are on thin, thin ice with.
Daddy’s paying your credit card bills, so everything is going to be alright.
French manicure; if you are going to tear someone apart, your claws should look pretty, right?
Prada perfume.
Citizen jeans.
It is hard work, being a monster, isn’t it?

But this is just the outside.
And is it not correct that what truly matters is on the inside?
On the interior, you are dying.
Suffering.
You like cause distress others to make yourself feel better.
And do not even try to deny it.
I can see it in your eyes.
It is all in the eyes.
I see your pain, your loss.
That boy who rejected you.
Yet another test you failed.
Your parent’s ignorance.
The “friends” who will never really care about you.
Guilt.
Guilt for that one girl who you spread false rumors about.
Harassed.
Bullied, to put it simply.
You ran her thick, thick rope to a single thread.
Don’t you have any remorse?
No?
Yes you do.
Again with the denying?
Tsk tsk.

Do not even dare mess with me again.
You have not killed me yet, have you?
What does not kill me shall only make me stronger.
I am done with the pity from others
So I am ready to fight back.
No, I am not going to be another loyal servant of the Queen Bee.
I am going to revolt.
Come at me.
I am indestructible.



“It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me.
And I’m feeling good.”
-Multiple Artists

Dark Matter

They call me their friend.
We are not friends; I am nothing more than a confidante to you.
If we were friends, you would listen to what I had to say.
All you do is talk, talk, talk about yourself.
Your problems.
You share every little insignificant detail of your life with me.
Who’s mad at whom.
An annoying teacher.
Unfair parents.
I have a permanent weight on my shoulders from all this information.
With all this information, I could cause such destruction.
Chaos.
This... this data is dark matter.
I could cause demolition.

But I won’t.
No, of course of I won’t.
That just wouldn’t be the right thing to do.
Although I do want respect from all these people, I believe in karma.
And karma would come back and bite me in the ass.
As it will my so-called friends, eventually.
So I guess you, my “friends”, should be careful.
Tread lightly.
You never know if this red giant will finally, cautiously, become a supernova.

The Dog Days are Over

A friend showed me this song, and I'm hooked.
Listen to the lyrics; you'll know how I feel about life right now.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TwqE2X55Wg

Just a quick note...

A whole lot of people have come up to me and questioned me about the story "The End of Something".

"The End of Something" is mostly fictional; I did not have an affair with a teacher. Although this story was stemmed from truth, nothing ever happened with a certain overly flirtatious teacher. That teacher was given a good talking to, and nothing ever happened between me and him again (nothing ever really happened in the first place).

Thank you.