11182 visits since 03/07/01 -=Mail/MSN=- sprained_soul@hotmail.com -=Featured Link=- Listening to 11.975hz - The official webcomic of #a!. 09/30/06 Cocktail Time Kill. 12/11/03 Conveyerbelt dreamscape. 09/24/03 Studded leather Envy. 06/26/03 Your very own anything. 02/11/03 I am part Hamlet, part eunuch. 11/17/02 I liked you better when I didn't know you. 10/13/02 No one likes you and you're going to lose. 09/13/02 I'd sell my soul for a Klondike Bar. 09/12/02 From lonely to only. 06/14/02 Spoonfulls of sidewalk wisdom. 05/11/02 Spontaneous human combustion on a bus. 03/24/02 We are all there is now. 03/18/02 Know what I'm talking about? 03/11/02 I wonder what it's like to be dead. 03/07/02 Lights off, Insanity on.			Spontaneous human combustion on a bus     The bus rumbles and shakes around another a corner, clipping a curb and shrugging the people on the left side of the bus about an inch off their seats. It's almost midnight and the overhead florescents flicker in protest, forcing me into some type of strobbing,epilyptic trance. I don't mind the lights, they help keep my mind away from you. I just wished this bus would take me somewhere you could not find me, like Alaska. I'd like to see you chase me to Alaska, you bitch. Our transport clumbsily glides into another stop and more people pile on, stumbling down the isle , confused about where to sit. Thankfully, no one eyes the seat next to me. I wonder why it is that when I can't find the strength to arrange myself correctly, I concentrate on the faults of the general populous, angsty and unforgiving, I give them my all, they'll not make a mockery of me like you have. I'll beat them to the punch. The "Next Stop" light blares to life, it's hoarse 'ding' barely audible over my headphones. I'm dead-eyeing everyone on the bus, searching and scanning, analysing and justifying, sorting and dismissing them like trading cards. Need em, got em, need em, got em, got em, need em. It would be better if I could just put people in plastic, wrap them up and make their claws useless. I would trade them with my friends if I had any. I bet your rookie card would be worth less than the paper it was printed on. People get off, people get on, the bus resumes it's course, stedfast and unblinking it plows through it's route. The bus driver has a lost look on his face, like he had dreamt that his life would be great. Perhaps during his shift he sits and thinks where he has gone wrong, why he didn't play the lotto everyday and how he should have gone to college. I feel much in common with him, these people always coming and going all around him, not saying a word, never giving a second thought. I wish I was as invisible to everyone as the bus driver. Muscle memory clicks in and my arm reaches up for the pulley, I'm heading to the docks, I'm heading to the harbour so I can let the waves take me away. I have a plan to get away from you, from your soul-stabbing tongue and the things you me put me through. I look across the isle, a couple cuddled closely to one another catches my eye. I wonder how they met, I wonder if they're really together for reasons other than comfort. I wonder if she's just a hooker he picked up. Pictures of you snap back into my mind, like a crowd on the street has parted and you come walking down the gap they have left. The first time I saw you I wanted to throw my coffee at you, scald you and make you afraid. Not out of contempt for you - you don't deserve my contempt, but to make you run away from me. There is nothing inside me you could want to love, only things you could destroy, only things you could burn and scrape. I stand up and leave the strangers, sending the bus driver a knowing glance in his rear-view mirror, perhaps he will realize that being invisible to people is a blessing. My stomach starts to ache as I go over my plan, my hand clutching the last bit of money I will ever spend. This is going to be perfect. I will not fail at this because you're not here to stop me. I rent the boat, I gas it up and I set sail. I'm heading to the middle of the Atlantic ocean where I can die without you complicating things. You know, I told you from the start that this wouldn't work, didn't I? You wouldn't beleive me, you said that I just hadn't met 'the right one' yet, that I just hadn't experienced love with the right person and that you were different from everyone else. I walked into this with my eyes open, you were the one who was delusional but somehow you made me weak with each passing day. Why is it that people are nothing but humanity leeches to me? Each time I try to be around you, all I see in you is the teeth latched into my flesh, your claws ripping out my intestines and you repeating over and over "Just let someone love you, let me love you. Start being a man.". Am I supposed to smile while you do this? Thank you ma'am, may I have another? The only thing you brought me was more self-doubt, more misery and a further belief that anyone who isn't me, is the enemy. I'm two hours into my journey to the middle of the ocean and the salty air is fogging you image, just like I had hoped it would. The days wear on and I forget you more and more, I forget the people and I even forget my comrade in arms, the bus driver. The middle of the ocean is not as impressive as I thought it would be, it looks just like everything else has looked for most of my life, infinite stretches of nothing, ever-changing and brewing. I sit back and contently sigh, for the first time in over two years, I can finally find peace within myself. That's when you climb onto the ship, a knife in your teeth, the hiss of a thousand cobras pouring out of your mouth. You ask me where I've been, why I haven't called. You say I've worried you sick, that everyone was looking for me, that you missed me. My body goes rigid and I try to remember the flickering florescent lights of the bus ride that took me away from you. That's when you pound a knife into my chest and attach a leash to it, pulling me from the chair and forcing me to trail behind you. You tell me how this is for my own good, that this is how it is supposed to be and ask me why I'm so resistant. I suppose this is what letting yourself be loved is like so I wonder why all the movies I've watched lied to me about it. I wake up the next morning, a white picket fence in the yard and a minivan in the driveway. You wander in and prominently display my heart to me, it sloshes around defiantly, not content in it's plastic jar prison. You tell me that you have so many plans and that I better get to work before I'm late, that it's a shame that I'm such a late sleeper because you had to make breakfast without me. How can you think this is normal? How can people exist like this? I trade her leash for that of my employer's, button down my shirt and drive off to work. I die of a heart attack at the age of seventy-three. I am survived by none.