the sidewalk of lucifer

last night, I made him cry...

last night I was hurt.

I had my reasons, I did. He didn't hear me, but he just stared at me, my voice carrying on to nowhere. it's not as if I yelled at him, it's not as if I cried...

I said sorry, but he screamed.

the funny thing is, his scream carried on like an echo of a girl being raped. Like an airhead having her nail broken. Like a girl who was poked on the sides. Like a girl who's delivering her baby.

It was dark that time, and we were in front of that rotten men's dorm, which actually contains girls (stupid people). I remember perfectly that you shone so white, and I blending in the dark, so much, literally, since I was in all black attire...

I didn't know. I was stupid.

You cried. Or I thought you did.

Well, how the damn can L300 vans cry? But I was sure the girl beside me screamed like a banshee when I collided with the back of the L300 van. WHo ever invented a high sidewalk which overlooks the stinkiness of portable comfort rooms...?!?

Well anyway... I damaged his red light... and it damaged my not-so-pretty shin. Now my shin sports a funny bruise with a bump. it's like a speed bump. Rightfully so.

WHOSE FAULT?

1.) the high sidewalk
2.) my scooter with the low motor
3.) my nausea towards the smell
4.) the way the L300 was parked
5.) because freshmen are over-eager for roles
6.) because L300s are white.

I'll pick 'em all.

Miss Psycho signing out.