like i'm some sort of futon

if i don't move, it's because you have your feet on me. i never really thought it would be quite like this, but now that i'm here it makes some sort of dark, poetic sense. sort of.

when we hate and fear and loathe something long enough, it is inevitable that we become that thing. too much psychic energy to do much else.

this rug goes with nothing in the room, and no one else seems to notice. maybe the King would notice, but say nothing, and that's pretty much the same as not noticing.

you can play with me inside my pants, but i can't promise anything will develop. in fact, i just want you to solve your problems and leave me out of the equation.

i'd run away from spray bottles too, if they removed grape jelly stains.