Rugs are my life and soul. When I see a nice rug I feel complete. Almost as if the rug was a past lover of mine that I longed for. I want to set all carpet on fire because rugs are superior. Give me rug supremacy or give me death. I think my love for rugs started when I was a child, when I would roll my self up in a roll until my parents would stop beating each other. The rugs are my real parents because they protect me from all of the worlds dark secrets. I like red rugs.
Of course I am not completely sane either, so I am not sure how much you really want to trust me here. I once stole a car and ran it into a tree. I like the pain. It brings me closer to the way my parents felt and brings back the good memories of wrapping my body in a warm, red rug. I wish I had friends to talk to but I am so lonely. My parents used to hit each other with various utensils. I watched as my parents walked out of the house with various fork cuts, spoon stabs, and knife wounds. It was scary.
I am ready to sell that old ugly rug and move on with my life. To start fresh like a bloody window wiped clean. The windows were usually bloody due to the constant utensil fights. Wet with the souls of my parents. At this point, their constant nagging and fighting keeps me alive in a way. Forcing my mind to think shitty thoughts, leading me to believe that I too, am a rug.
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Hidden Secrets
EspiritualEveryone has secrets, some are just better hidden then others. Everyone needs an escape every once in a while. I can't escape the demons in my mind. This is my escape, multiple stories about my self loathing, piece of shit, no good brain of mine. ...
