My Mentally Disturbed Houseband
Fawning. The word that comes to mind when thinking of the person who guards my every move…whether in the safety of my own bedroom, dining room or living rooms. An idiotic people-pleaser who acts in behalf of an assembly of guests, foreign and local alike; just outside my abode.
This is his way of proving to me and himself that I am worthy of the world’s attention, acting like perhaps Phantom to my Prodigy. Whatever good it thinks it is doing; fact is, it is keeping me sick (in pain)...and tired of my existence in my house and in this god-forsaken city. Because anywhere I go or try to rest, it is there, ready to pounce like a gorilla on my back.
If people (it caters to) think he is doing me a favor by being my so-called protector and guide, it is in fact doing the opposite of what it's supposed to do. It is a person borne out of poverty, born out of survival and it is doing everything in its deep envy to keep me down, both my spirits and physicality. It will revel in my every pain, my little embarrassments, my faults.
Well, I have news for it (for me, it is only an entity. It is neither man, woman nor monkeybeast at this point). It is that is has been written all along that he, it or shit won't be a part of the remainder of my existence in this life. It only deserves of my loathing. And he should be thankful. His disservice is not needed anymore. His kalbaryo is over.
People of the surrounding, rejoice in its imminent demise. When a man fawns, it is a sign of weakness, a psychological disorder. If this is the chosen or elected savior to me; he is obviously not capable of doing so for it needs desperate psychiatric help.
People, I am asking for your help. Give him the help he so desperately seeks from me, because I will definitely NOT be the one handing out his much needed charity. He needs professional help. Give him my sister, Doctor-at-Large.
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But what if everything I accuse it of is wrong? That it is not borne of poverty, that it is not deeply envious, that it is not a psychiatric patient with all his given patience, that it is not indeed the American-chosen Christ out to save me and be its bride? What if I am the one being presumptuous all along? That I am the one who needs to be hanged for heresy?
Well, I would rather be free both in mind and spirit than be locked for life…with a person whom I only know from distant observation. I have seen its face in 1983 to be precise and hope I will never see its face ever again. I need not be corrected for the things I have said. I only need to move on and forget this faggot nearby ever existed.
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