She's an eccentric lover.
Laughing her way through salty rain drops making way from her eyes to her numb, cold, wanting lips.
Claustrophobic in an empty, barely furnished abode, nursing a fleeting slideshow of despair and guileless, pubescent love. Bursting out like victims of steadfastness from the jailed lock-horns of farce. Deep, senile love doing its frolic, in a smiling head, gleefully clapping her way through a room of dancing others. Diving aimlessly, head first, into a crevice knowing no bounds. And being upstaged by scorn.
Justlikethat.
An illusionary sorry figure transcends from hitherto a parallel gratifying scheme of events. Where love is nothing but a stream of bodies chalked out by the peripherals of their touch. Where love is happiness and grief alike surmounted onto an impenetrable wall of heroin addiction. And heroin being nothing but that, that beats in the blood of a fool, he being that. And two worlds create themselves, with a psychotic ease that nothing but addiction demanded.
While in one, every cry was met with an ignorant sigh, two naked bodies danced their way through a streaming flow of void, settling down, arms entwined, in the invisibility of the world set apart from the rest.
As she carelessly muttered helpless cries of a world that belonged to her head, he silently noted how big his thumb really was.
TchTch.
And her thought flow went on to have street bumps. That made little thought vehicles go plop! in the air. And the little yellow-knickered man cried for help. And he noticed how enormously black the sky inside really was. That there are no stars or moon in the head did not help him either.
And whilst his trivialization slowly killed the all-consuming despair, the yellow-knickered man jumped in awe at how close the sky really seemed to be coming in and how small the world inside really seemed to feel.
""If we could just escape into an all-seemingly delusional corner with our drapes enshrouding us from obscure views, it would be nice. I'd make love to you like there's no tomorrow, gasp with a feeling of self-worth and die in your arms, unable to put up with the ecstasy. And maybe, just perhaps, your sauntering kisses will spring me to life."
Do you like what I say?
No, you don't, you answer."
TchTch.
Laughing her way through salty rain drops making way from her eyes to her numb, cold, wanting lips.
Claustrophobic in an empty, barely furnished abode, nursing a fleeting slideshow of despair and guileless, pubescent love. Bursting out like victims of steadfastness from the jailed lock-horns of farce. Deep, senile love doing its frolic, in a smiling head, gleefully clapping her way through a room of dancing others. Diving aimlessly, head first, into a crevice knowing no bounds. And being upstaged by scorn.
Justlikethat.
An illusionary sorry figure transcends from hitherto a parallel gratifying scheme of events. Where love is nothing but a stream of bodies chalked out by the peripherals of their touch. Where love is happiness and grief alike surmounted onto an impenetrable wall of heroin addiction. And heroin being nothing but that, that beats in the blood of a fool, he being that. And two worlds create themselves, with a psychotic ease that nothing but addiction demanded.
While in one, every cry was met with an ignorant sigh, two naked bodies danced their way through a streaming flow of void, settling down, arms entwined, in the invisibility of the world set apart from the rest.
As she carelessly muttered helpless cries of a world that belonged to her head, he silently noted how big his thumb really was.
TchTch.
And her thought flow went on to have street bumps. That made little thought vehicles go plop! in the air. And the little yellow-knickered man cried for help. And he noticed how enormously black the sky inside really was. That there are no stars or moon in the head did not help him either.
And whilst his trivialization slowly killed the all-consuming despair, the yellow-knickered man jumped in awe at how close the sky really seemed to be coming in and how small the world inside really seemed to feel.
""If we could just escape into an all-seemingly delusional corner with our drapes enshrouding us from obscure views, it would be nice. I'd make love to you like there's no tomorrow, gasp with a feeling of self-worth and die in your arms, unable to put up with the ecstasy. And maybe, just perhaps, your sauntering kisses will spring me to life."
Do you like what I say?
No, you don't, you answer."
TchTch.
