The Sacred Princess Hippie

This is the color of blood--mine. It will be shed on this electronic machine til there is no more and it (me) dies. Well, I've done it a thousand times before, so once more won't kill me (ha ha.) I foolishly thought that once, someone actually loved me. But I found I was a follow up (Booby prize, as one may think of it,) to the truest love--THE SACRED PRINCESS HIPPIE. Who can compete with that? Not I, thought the silent Oracle of Delphi. AAhhhhh, this is a bunch of shit, really, and I hope you're all laughing right along with me. I have not known received love in 20 years, and that really doesn't bother me. What does bother me, is the lack of affection--and the overabundance of lies. When I kicked my ex out of my room and tossed him upstairs, I began to take myself back. Something, however, was lacking. I did not know what it was until the day Attycatty snuggled her warm, furry self oh so close beside me as I was ready to sleep that night. She touched me, and I mean she stretched out an arm and laid her paw on my wrist as if to say, "I love you. You comfort me, just by being here." Little did she know that was the first affectionate touch I'd had in twenty years. Or maybe she did. I will never be The Sacred Princess Hippie--but there is one thought I would like to leave to all you men who like a good sport when fucking and your girl (or hole) is getting FUCKED: you may need to know that a sofa bed, a fridge with a cheap gallon of wine is not all she needed. I don't even hope to find love. I just give it.