Zombie, n.:

source: gniniar.wordpress.com

I know love when I feel one. Just like how I know it's a bitch when I see one, and how to avoid it the way I dodge a volleyball when it's flying straight towards my face. But somehow, this me-knowing-everything kind of thing is freaking me in for some instances. Like, it makes me mad and want to scream as if a dumbfuck elephant in the midst of the wild, but still I prefer to shut my mouth and keep it all to myself. That's how I freak in. It's as if there is a party inside my body and at the same time, a war in my head. Anyway, the point is I want to feel love like how I felt it before: Pure. Genuine. Distilled. I know it's all cheese but for fuck's sake! Can't this guy be happy for real this time?

For quite some time, I've been sitting in the Stool of Torment and lying on the Bed of Roses. Nobody notices my pain and wounds that are caused by the wedges and thorns because there is no blood gushing out of my body. And the only reason for it is that I'm all dried up. I'm dead. And I need someone to revive me because honestly, I feel like a zombie now; searching and searching for someone to eat when instead, I should be looking for somebody who would find joy in satisfying my appetite by feeding me everything I need. Does that even make sense? Anyway. I want someone to love me. To say she loves me. To show me she really does. And to say it again and again and again and again! I want her to love me the way I want to be loved.

Come on! Where are you, uhm... er... soulmate?

Where the fuck are you?

Eat me!

And I'll eat you back!