Sammy says: Hello all! It's Sammy! I'm back and, unfortunately, recounting a particular childhood memory involving a little blonde girl—me—and a cat in a particularly bad mood. Let's just leave it at this:
You haven't been in pain until a cat's tooth punctures your eyeball.
Ahem.
It is with some difficulty that I bring you this poem before your eyes. I'm not a poetry person, by any means… unless those means are memorizing other people's work.
No joke, I still have the Crocodile poem by Lewis Carole memorized from last year, and have many other things as well. My audio memory is almost photographic—or phonographic. Hardy har.
Seriously. I can't listen to the radio with out remembering some useless Justin Beiber song. It's positively maddening.
So, with out further ado~
DISCLAIMER: I do not, have not, and probably never will own any part of the Durarara franchise. It ALL belongs to Ryohgo Narita.
Shizaya
It's always like this.
"Shizu-chan~! 3""IIIZAAAYAAAA!"
Elegantly twirling our of the path of a
Wayward vending machine.
My vision blurs red with rage.
I throw another vending machine.
The insults.
"Raging Neanderthal!"
"Damn flea!"
The injuries.
I nail the flea in the head with a
Convenience store trash can.
Getting to my feet, I slash at Shizu-chan.
I, of course, inflict a decent sized cut on his bicep.
Is it worth it?
Violent fury pours out in the form of lust.
I can't believe I let this moron dominate me!
Well?
Is it?
"You're still not human, Shizu-chan."
I can barely manage to glare around my catty grin.
At least he's too spent to hit me.
"Shut up… Goddamn evil flea."
A scowl is familiar territory.
At least his knife isn't on him right now…Enemies?
I silently congratulate myself.
The bruises from our fight earlier—
Glow purple on that pale skin.
I hope it scars.
The incision I made during our pervious—
Confrontation drips blood on my couch.
… The dry cleaning bill…
Lovers?
He's not gentle, but then…
He never was.
But he doesn't go out of his way to hurt me.
At least…
Not right now.
His is kind of cute…
In an evil-sleepy kind of way.
At least…
Right now.
What we are…
That label.
I fear nothing from the brute.
There's no reason for violence.
For anger.
Maybe one day,
I can trust him not to crush me—
With that inhuman strength.
It's almost shocking how fast—
The little twerp can go from manic happiness,
To honest calm.
It he was like this all the time…
Maybe we wouldn't fight.
Does it matter?