As the song goes, “shut’em down, open up shop,” that’s my life I need to abandon this farce and go for something else and ain’t I writing a book, probably storing energy for an uglier load of trash, Black Friday. Will Be Back Soon
I think I know enough about life to fake it, go to work, kill the pests (ants), and there is a bed to sleep in and a roof over my head, and that’s all there is but wait there’s more because what I have seen so far… “Willing Parody Of Life.”
History is at the mercy of the victor’s whims, but I always like to believe that it’s the wheelhouse survivors, then again Hitler’s book was a best seller, and most of the erotica I read is from white women, but here I am. “To Will Wash History”
Eyeing my next line, whether it be my finances, the ant invasion, or that sliver of sleep I get before all of a sudden it’s morning again but for now thank goodness the only girls I’m seeing are in my novel. “An Eye Of Will.”
Well, I found my niche, but my title doesn’t reflect it sadly, not that I’ve shared the novel with anyone as of yet, is that a big sin considering I have four already written, best read in the dark, with the lights off. Plague Two Pay Will.
As the song goes, you shook me all night long, or several seeing as how it’s NaNoWriMo month, so I’m falling in love with writing, or maybe I should say “it’s complicated, but it’s getting there. One Reasonable Willing Anesthesia.
Why do people even care, is my face not enough, my anxiety, how I move or talk, and today I’m getting all these personal questions, and I would say I don’t want to talk about me because Hell the don’t get me. “It’s Okay If They Don’t.”
There are people out there fighting for my life, some who are protecting my son’s life and I dare to complain that I want all this living that I should be doing to mean something but nobody vetted my soul. “Will Vet For You.”
Being perfectly honest I wish I wasn’t and no I’m not getting on about my name I mean getting off my ass and doing something other than running to work, searching for sex, and rushing to stop the flood of invaders. “What Keeps You Willing?”
The pretend man is at it again, well that was until I was cradling “B III,” fighting an ant caravan or wondering what the hell am I becoming while writing other than a terrible writer… too late, but I am a clown. Your Willie Don’t Mine
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