The Beggining

More or less a poem than anything. My brain has the voice of Tim Minchin.

On the dawn of a night, I woke to the sound of a text. Perplexed, I read it, realizing that it was just a notification from Facebook of a friend commenting on how me and my mother never get along. She thinks I'm constantly depressed cause I'm not under her wing and wisdom, if you can call it that by a hint. She sits at her house, talking to my friends and current neighbors.
With a sigh, I get up with the thought of my disfigurement, Not even bothering to grab proper clothing, I mean, With days like this, where the hell am I going? The notifications beep and echo, much like clicking down a long and narrow hallway. Half closed eyes search for a clock as I read that it's already midday.
"Typical.", I say, As I walk out of my bedroom, "Just another day doing the same thing."
Game console turned on, controller in my hand, "let's get these twelve hours over with."  No messages, no game invites, but my phone starts to ring, I never answer until they speak over the answering machine. Just my boyfriends parents, telling him to do another task. How eventful a life this man has. He takes care of me and my randomly assorted set of buttons and switches, telling me to get a job or a hobby so I'm not doing whatever I do when he goes to work.
It's been a long three years, I'm nineteen and still blunt. I finally think I found my way out of this rut. "Writing." I tell him, "that's wonderful!" He says. "Now you can stop hogging my game console!"
But as I fish and fondle the back of my mind, I think of things to write that are a puzzle to find. What of no one reads my writings, or thinks I'm a weird freak?
I like booze, dubstep and hentai any other day of the week.
Rhyming is an addiction.
I found out what rhymes with orange. Door hinge.
Depends on how you say it. I like to speak like a British person, and that's my own dissension.
I'm still not sure what friends are or if I have any left.
I rarely see sunlight and I look like I'm Irish
Some I hang out with, I only talk to the rest.
What can I say? I'm a social recluse.
I'de be naked, drunk and insane if I was ever to be set loose.
Wait. That's a paradox.
But what rhymes with that?

Author's Note

It's my first context here.
Lemme know if you like it.

Reviews

[.]

I LOVE IT! You should write more stories like this, I'd know I'd read them! 100/100 Keep up with the great work, your an amazing talent!

[Stevvy Hopson]

Thank you so much :3 I will!

[.]

Ur welcome! ^.^

[the crying cup]

great story! i really like it :)

[Stevvy Hopson]

Thank you so much :3 It means a lot to me that you like it.

[the crying cup]

your welcome