PARALLELOGRAM!

You’re cute, you’re funny, whatever,

You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, even a bit clever

But hey, was there ever any time that you could think about me

As in I, personaly?

Nope? I guess It’s back to the grind, try again later,

Save my details, google, I’ll be greater than

The guys who use you once and are done,

(Google being a synonym for the girls I’ve never won)

But see, instantly, due to the fact that he runs faster than me,

He is the better candidate to make 1 and 1 be

Together, I guess that’s the terms and qualifications to be

tethered, to this girl that doesn’t mean my world

But my whole fucking universe, nice guys finish last

He only likes you ‘cuz yall got a really nice ass

Think of what you said in the past, you pinky sweared

That you’d never put a tear in the bear-hugs and little tug

of wars we used to have, I let you win, thought it would keep us together

Should have pulled you close and held on to you forever

But whatever

Right?

Two white flames, floating in the curtain. Whenever the moon is out, just like out of a scary story. They’re always there, Perfectly level and perpendicular to one another. I have always told myself that it’s god’s trick, playing on a harp of light to fool my eyes. No longer does this satisfy me.

Why don’t I leave? The answer is one that I have kept to myself for ages, and has eaten away at my insides all the while.

My dreams.

They tell the future.

- - -

7:00 AM. The crust of my morning toast is blackened, but I’m too busy thinking to even bother. I have to get to work in 30 minutes, and the drive is 10, not counting traffic. I’ve yet to get dressed.

“C’mon, Arthur. Pull yourself together.”

I wolf down the remaining food and hobble out of the kitchen. I stand in the shower for what seems to be a heartbeat, and before I realize, I’m on the highway. Being a bit of a philosopher (or daydreamer, if you prefer,) I taught myself to do these things second-nature, so I can focus on more important matters. Like the tax report that I have to fill for chuck. Like the present I have to get for mum. Like the birthday party I have to throw for my best friend since the 2 grade, Noah.

Like the ghost.

The door to my office is always open. I never really had a problem with it, but me and my coworkers treat it as the eight wonder of the world. I’m the manager of a small division of workers at H and R block. We help out those who have special tax cases. Some of the other groups say that we get the short end of the stick, due to the fact that all the people who manage to get this far down the lines of tax-help tend to be more angry than a guy who’s been on the phone for 2 hours talking to Indian people trying to get a refund on a bad computer. However, the job acts as a great character builder, allowing you to become more patient. This might not sound like much to you, but you can guess who always gets the first copy of the newest madden by camping for 2 days.

“Another slow day, eh?”

“Summer’s are always slow,” I replied.

Chuck passed me a cold one from the fridge. He had already gone through three, but he was a big guy, and a drinker, so he could handle it. The boss hated it when we were drinking on the job, but we all know that we only get 1 or 2 people coming in in August. At this point in time, we’d figure that the whole day should be spent with paper airplanes.

“Trashcan’s the goal. Ready…. Go!”

Hours in the office were spent like this. Trashcan as landing pad, we could go for days. He had three down the hallway, I had two. I was closer though. Neck and neck, his last was thrown, and, after a skid alongside the bag- it fell in.

“Yes!”

“I still have a chance, you know.”

I wound up my last throw, and it was off. It looked like a direct hit, I knew it would get in- but then it happened. A breath of air, I told myself. It turned around and flew into the perpendicular corridor, and landed, pointing directly at Kim.

This is where it all began.

So look.

I get bullied too.

Probably less than you do, but hey, there was the time and place where I said

I quit. Let’s end this.

Read marbles, you know what I mean.

But I’m still here.

Why?

Because I manned the fuck up, fast, and shrugged off the bullshit those asscakes threw at me.

I looked myself in the mirror and said

Hey.

Your motherfucking radical. Shell fucking shocker. Dope. Legit. Awesome.

I learned how a high five can go a mile, and a hug can go cross- country, you dig?

It’s the little things, bro.

Now chin up, and go get’ em, you mother fucking autobot.

Hello, Rose-luck, missed your birthday

Often do I forget to wake up to a new day

For another plethora of punks to call me some new gay

There is another way, but hey

Happy birthday

For what it’s worth, you’ve most likely heard this

from another bird or two, so  lemme give you something new

You’re fucking awesome, Rose-luck, like

the time you made a wicked ramp for your Tonka truck

And pretended that fucking explosions were going off in the back

as it made tracks down them rack and landed with a crack

That’s you

You’re radical, fantastical, fuckin’ unicorn born but too bombastical to handle its own horn

While I sit and watch porn and lorn for these attributes

Even though I misuse my own, I’ve grown out of my throne

Of cardboard boxes and half-worn dockers in the middle of a shopper’s center

Looking up to yours, bold and made of solid gold, or so I’ve been told

Where do I go from here

Up to your level, hell, this is where I’m stayin’,

Your up there with Iva, doin’ shit, just playin’,

While I am the raven, pluckin’ grain that fell from the havens

Suckin’ pain that came from the instruction manual you gave me

You dropped this

Well, happy birthday, captain mother-fucking shell shocker

You get a bunch of complaints from a kid who’s a bit off his rocker

Go ahead, sock’m

he don’t mind.

I’m too pissed to do shit

Like I’m pitchin’ a fit

Give you a good lick

I’m at the end of my stick so go eat a dick like your fat-ass dad passed it to your faggy ass cap

Hell, man, get the fuck outta here, It’s clouded here, from all the steam I’m blowing off

And you’ll be blowing my cock before your goes soft from the vapors tapering your life short

Abort mission, kissing my ass never felt so wrong, hell, I’ll slit your neck from the glass I got from a bong

And then I’ll sell you vital organs to cancer research, but first

I’ll crash the ambulance and then I’ll dance on the advancing ashes coming from the fire of hate

It’s too late, but I’m not done, I’ve got the gun, nowhere to run,

But no need to pout, you can take the window route

Into a mother-fucking pit of sulfur sharks and cyanide, why am I doing

This

To you?

Well, I’m not, I’m sitting in the back of the classroom,

Guessing who your’e gonna fuck during homecoming

There’s a dinosaur downstairs, without care

He tears through the man who I called brother

Smothered in blood and flooded in what seems to be

Tears, he fights for me, I see he is finished now, thankfuly,

He survived the fight and has left light wounded and right minded

But I now face a dinosaur, who’s now, apparently, a motherfucking pixie,

Well whistle my dixie, he seems awful nice due to his rice grain size,

But I’ve been here before, lord, wait and see how this will unfold,

At least he taught me a lesson,

If you do wrong, you get told.

So yourgunrunner is apparently finding others superpowers. Yourgunrunner’s powers allow him to not only be able to easily maneuver a piece of machinery, but to synchronize with it to a point where he actually absorbs it, gaining its abilities. He takes in any ammunition by simply touching it, and releases it in the same barrels of the absorbed machinery, which protrude from his forearms at his will. But in any case, with all this considered, if it becomes too hot or if his systems overheat, his inner mechanics will clog with sulfur, making him rather odorous. He also has kept an item of machinery in his pocket. He doesn’t know what it is, or what it does, but he claims that he cannot absorb it, and whatever pocket he thinks it’s in, it’s in the opposite one.

I’m dropping them, not stopping them,

Hoping they will find a way to nottingham

So I could have a chat with some real people

For once, wish I could visit a steeple to see if i am feeble

Or a righteous evil or some sleazy teeth-filled

cranium clay, folded in a dome which is a home for my

marbles

Heartfelt, helpful, kindess

I wish I was tacked with these complements of rightness

But all I get is these niggas wanna fight, and

I’m looking for a way to lighten the frightnin’

Sights and situations, like running out of money

Or finding out who won, or finding out

that your at the end of a gun, he

got his finger on the trigger, marvel

at the last moments of your life before you lose your

marbles

Startled, man in action, opened eyes, a new meaning

Could this be it, some new formula, is this really what I’m seeing

Fat chance , try again and come back another day,

Hell, it’s one direction, and this is leading one way

Fuck the band, glock in hand, I’m gonna do it,

tell the sand man my plans and watch me while i drop my

marbles