Don't mind it.

You try to walk forward, but instead you go down, hitting the pavement hard, making cracks, scars.

You didn't even know you could fall that hard.

You try getting back up.

It works.

And then.

Someone trips you.

You're down again.

Hitting harder, you're further down.

You're bleeding.

Bones broken, body aches.

It doesn't look like you'll see the sun again.

It seems like you'll be facing that ground the rest of your time.

And then.

You're on your hands and knees. You want to reach the top again.

You need to reach the top again.

Wincing, closing your eyes, you start looking up.

Seeing the stars. It's night.

It's beautiful.

And so you're off of your hands, and only on your knees, breathing hard, but breathing.

In. And out.

Almost give up. It's so tiring.

But you don't.

Because you know you don't want to.

You know you've got to keep moving towards the top.

You squeeze your eyes shut, clench your fist, and grit your teeth.

You WILL make it.

And eventually, you do.

Hands still clenched, body aching.

But it is worth it.

After all, you're staring up at the night sky, the wind in your face.

The stars in view.

You don't need a figure to bow down to.

You got up on your own.

And now you're walking over the cracks in the pavement, the puddle of blood, and you're moving forward.

A smile on your face.

Through.

-Earlier Today-

I'm about to ride my bike to a friends house.

Dad says it's fine.

I tell him that my brother and I hadn't taken the papers we were supposed to downtown.

I don't know why. I just did.

And he flipped.

Told me that the bathroom wasn't clean, that I did horrible with my chores, that this house was a mess. That I should have cleaned it all.

I'm the type of anonymous person to...back talk.

So believe me, I back talked.

Told him that he said we had to work together, that two lousy papers isn't going to harm anyone. I told him that he said we had to have it done by the end of the day.

It wasn't the end of the day yet.

I'm sent to my room.

He leaves.

I walk downstairs and pace, furious.

Then I pick up the laundry basket.

"You want a mess, Dad?" I say, to no one.

And I dump it all.

Every sock and shirt, every piece of laundry is on the floor.

I let out a cry of frustration and I throw pillows around the room.

As I bend down over the laundry, I feel tears escape my eyes.

Tears of anger, I guess.

And then I pick up the entire mess I made, go clean the bathroom, dust the living room, vacuum the stairs, and do someone else's dishes.

Well.

Sucks for me.

Maybe it'll work now.

But probably not.

I'm just going to stop writing for now and change my post frequency to daily.

And then I'll try not to drink that f*cking rotten milk again.

Sheesh.

* = me trying not to be too R-rated. Be proud, blogger civilization. Be f*cking proud.

ENTER already.

Already, this blog is ticking me off. It's called an 'ENTER' button. The post below? It has about 50 enters. None of them showing up. So let's call this a test. Hope that the enters will show up. Hope that they will STAY showing up, and hope that I don't punch the computer screen.

So, I figure.

A bit a about me. I'm anonymous. Let's keep it that way. My 'blog' is dark. Because I like dark. I'm young, restless, and somewhat of a rebel. I'm a nerd, a geek, a dork, a loser, an anti-social, a freak. You decide. I'm just here to freaking write. Anything.