Describe him. - He was dripping with sweat. - Was it sweet? - What? Oh, um I dunno. - sigh - But I know this much. He sweated under my weight. The nocturnal wind would then dry his sweat stiff. And he, perserverant as ever, would just sweat some more. - Ok, so who collapsed first?
Recoil. And recoil fast. She was of simple taste so He shattered her veiny lungs with his spit almost effortlessly. Under his weight she was stunted, her limbs frozen by the constant of his blarring audioporn. At every touch she had to brace herself for his embrace.
The mirror is a farce, a myth, a crook Look. Really! Our reflection is always exposed to our imaginative creations, concoctions, and corrosions. There is power in a refraction. See whatever you want coz wer all blind anyway.
She gets high to forget feeling low. In that instance the hair on her legs and her blood pressure spike, saluting the broken record chips rhythmically spinning above her dimmed wits. Up, down, with nothing to break down. Deeply depressed, she's high but low.
She wanted to remain pure, unstained, unpoked. She had toyed with getting a tattoo but realised it wasn’t individual anymore. But she was in need of validation. Was she past her peak? She’s still cool right?
The needle stuck into her skin like the scent of an old lover. It left a fizzy sensation behind. The ink spread. She kept poking, stabbing, stick n poking.
What emerged was a star.
Startled, strained by Tar, scarred, her sparkle faded.
My experience of doing a stick n poke tattoo of a star on myself. My thoughts on my first tattoo. I called my star tattoo Tar.
But this is not ideal. I don’t fancy him. There’s no spark for me. I admire him. I have love for him. But I don’t fancy him. I find myself wanting to fancy him. Due to selfish, superficial, unemotional motivations I give him a try. He’s in ecstasy. Beyond pleased. I’m in two minds. I’m kissing him. But why? Why am I kissing him? I don’t fancy him. This is so ****** up. I tried mum. Honestly.
GO FOR JEUNE! - darts for charcoal. Jeune boy is compassionate, secure, loving. What more could a girl want? Charcoal. Charcoal boy is mad. Boy, is he unhealthy, inconsiderate, hurtful, hateful. Full of everything but love for me Choose wisely. Self-flagellation anyone? Because I can suffocate and choke myself on charcoal, I push jeune away in a bout of responsibility.
Choosing between a boy that is bad for me and a boy that is nice for once.