Post my Pic

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 06, 2017

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Submitted: March 06, 2017



The device is strapped to my leg like a pistol at all times. I fiendishly grab and tug and covet the device from being damaged and harmed and yet all it seems to do is harm me. I slave away staring. Hours lost to my fucking phone. An image emerges with a lovely picture of everyone I have ever been into contact with in my life. I can see their mundane memes and meals and minds at work.

 It is all fucking trash.

 Tap a name on a piece of glass and live some one else’s boring life for 7 seconds. Stare into the eyes of former lovers as they vacation to exotic locations with attractive people while I sit alone in a Taco Bell parking lot smelling of shit and bile. Nothing I have seen on this device seems to have bettered me yet. They are unconsciously insinuating that my life is somehow inadequate in comparison. If I remove them I am weak, if I keep them I am in pain. It seems better to leave the pistol at home.

© Copyright 2017 E.M.. All rights reserved.

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