Guessing my name

Enter the world of guessing and you lose logic. Comforting, but it only sways in the feeler's favor for so long before it becomes "stupid" in every sense of the word. Stupid to feeling as well. I feel as though I shouldn't be doing this. Now you are defying two spectrums of execution. Stop now while you're a head! (Not a torso, mind you).

Let's take a look at the contrarian. He states the opposite. Befuddles merely because he can. Makes life a guessing game, mostly for himself. When will he succeed in retention of dramatic will. Will that, in the face of fiery acceptance and ruffled complacency, languidly lets his hair blow in golden locks as his white shirt billows and his arm rests on the comfortable hilt of the lazy-boy sword. Dramatic. Comfortable. Confident. He smells like oldspice.

Guessing is near to fear. It is the unknown and the lack of knowledge, for surely with knowledge you would not be wasting your time on that slot machine or in that geometry class. To algebra, then! Flee until the time is right, the knowledge matches the feeling, the daylight holds no surprises, only wonders you have yet to behold. And tomorrow... don't even get me started on tomorrow.