cheesewoof's messages

It was a saturday, if I recall correctly. It was drizzling outside, the pungent smell of rain entered my nostrils and I walked outside. My watch ticked along, move along, move along, like I know you do. I brushed the drops of water off the screen, and kept going down the boulevard of broken dreams. My hair drooped over my face, and i rolled down my sleeves to cover my scars. Why am I sad you may ask? Well, I just watched the lion king. Mufasa, mufasa, mufasa. Because of him, I am sad. What keeps me moving is my motivation to rise him from the dead. Everyday, I do satanic rituals in hopes to get the spirits to bring him back. It hasn’t worked yet. I don’t know what I am going to do with my life. Mufasa is dead, my scars will never heal, but the scars will remind me that the past is real. I took my earphones out of my pocket and inserted them into my phone. I turned the lion king soundtrack on blast and I began to cry. I collapsed to the ground, crying. The thunder boomed, the lightning illuminated my entire neighborhood. Mr. Johnstone came out of his door and told me to get off his lawn. Dick. I got up, trucked along. I eventually made it to my own home where my mother await just to yell at me for getting a 38 on my biology test. Who gives a shit about how many thumbs a giraffe can have. I crawled into bed, but made sure to try my satanic rituals to bring mufasa back first. I went to sleep, hoping to sleep the pain away.