Desanimania

There’s a few things that get me going in life. Crashing waves, pretty girls, and the imminent future that is the compounding idea of happiness viewed within the conflicting scope of tranquility versus purpose. Really, it’s like an equation. Crashing waves against pretty girls equals an ironic fate- one which is hip and derivative and is a bloody cold steak and drips down my chin and falls to the floor and I see my eyes hiding behind a toothy grin in the red reflection; it’s staring back up towards me with utmost precision. The truth erupts from my chest.