User blog:MichaelDiaz101/Broken

The way to reach perfection has always been lost on Greg, he didn't understand it. Even when he attempted it, and everyone informed him, 'wow, that's perfect man,' he was still longing for something greater.

The silence, and darkness of his dorm room was all that accompanied him as he played his weathered guitar to the beat of Soundgarden's Spoonman, though he was also trying to concoct his own sound within the verse of the song's powerful guitar solo.

Two days he spent on this assignment, confined to his dark room. His friends attempted to enter but he had locked the door and bitterly ignored their sentiments. Their concern was not warranted and he didn't fucking care. His stomach grumbled, it was two days ago he last ate, and his body was gradually deteriorating, but his mind was still in check at this point.

Rest was pathetic, he had to work. After each verse he continously scribbled lyrics down, only to erase them some time later in favor of something else. His frustration was becoming of him and he wished that he could remain in his room for the entirety of his life. The world was a sad place, and he wished to never be a part of it.

At this point his body demanded that he take actions to lessen its needs, still he remained vigilant and worked. If he opened the door he'd be comfronted by his group, and whisked away to an area where they could all give him hugs and obsess over him, yet again.

Just leave me alone, the thought of these people obsessing over him made him sick. He was not a martyr, nor was he anyone of peaked interest. He was Gregory Todd, and nothing more. Liza understood this, she was the only one that could ever recognise him for who he was. The apathetic monster of his generation. Still, allowing her access inside would only cause trouble for him at this point. Though her pleas to come inside were duly noted.

"Mend my soul with your eyes, and never let me go," he began singing. "I-I, ugh fuck it." He muttered, as he grabbed the notebook sprawled before him and crumpled up the paper, thus tossing it away. He picked up the pencil and wrote something else down.

His thoughts were even betraying him at this point, telling him to rest, to sleep, to eat. He ignored it, because he knew they were wrong. Taking a long, drawn out sigh, he began again.