"Well who is God imitating?"
"... Me".
I envision the satisfaction I will feel when my fist colliding with your face. It's perfect.
You run around, "you do not have a soul", and my unlimited rage was released in your direction in the form of words, I ended it with 'you can't handle your alochol' and someone directed a THWACK to your crotch.
He showed me some affection yesterday just gone. It was unexpected from he with the pretty face, as he stroked my hair and told me he was leaving. We both realized that the last person we had sex with was eachother. It was sort of sweet and romantic admitting that, so I quickly turned it into a competition as to who could get laid next first.
"I know some things"
"Yes, you carry them around in a rucksack"
"Yeah, and if I lose one, I go back and pick it up again"
"I have too much knowledge to keep it in a rucksack, so I just call it the universe".
I try to tell them I am not arrogant, to ignore all previous commentgs involving myself as a Godlike figure, and argue that I can't help it if I AM always right. The amount of times I've been wrong I can count on my fingers! And it's actually quite correct. I can't help it, either, if acid fuels my ego.
Ah, but my love for dear Lucy is incredible.
And I quote "Acid is my mistress, but weed is my bitch".
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