That Guy
He stands with a straight spine that bolts out of his back like jagged knives.
His eyes burn into yours. They light like fire turning yours to ash.
His Australian accent leaves a bitter taste, but flows like honey.
“Grow up...grow up like me.”
But you haven't grown. But I don't want to be like you.
“Don't hide your accent. Show it.”
But I don't want to. I want to fit in with the rest.
“Have children when you grow.”
But who said i want to create more like me? What if they mess up like….or worse than me..?
But the words don't stop.
They continue.
They create.
They try to conform and convert.
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