A quarter lemon

Clothes piled up on my roommate's bed, an equally over-rated hillock of texts on my half bed and George Michael mewing "freedom" in the backdrop, interrupting awkwardly calls on the gtalk. Sleep and insomnia compete neck to neck to dissolve in this room. I am as usual playing the black-sheep of the day (grin).
This blog happens to be for nothing in particular and still breathes in me the exhilaration to perform big. Almost one year since that fracas restyled me into this unforgiving whirlpool. When I sit back and reminisce of what transpired while I mused in my reverie of euphoria of kinship, I rejoice the thought of pain of dessertion.
I am not certainly not one of those people who have been there and done that.
I have been told that I am to be a twenty four years old chap for the next one week or so. JELLYFISH. In the past past sixty days I have hopped from being an adolescent birthday boy, to a crooked prime minister of a senile king, to a toady opportunist priest in desert. I do not direct towards swaggering in modesty, I am still looking for an occasion to be me. For, sure there aren't too many royalties I'll possibly get for being that.
Pancake or no pancake slapped on, not many faces are what they dissemble to be.
"I can see through you
See your true colors
Cause inside you’re ugly
You’re Ugly like me
I can see through you
See to the real you " ---Staind

Lets get to work. If not better, tommorow will certainly be busier.