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1909 on top of the dragon. Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight. That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach. I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend. He smells like bad disco and old people. This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening, I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom, It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses. My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl. Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine. Two fingers! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth? I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence. My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl. I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting That never goes away.
0
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
Untitled
1909 on top of the dragon. Marigolds whipping a tepid fug in this small room of stringy daylight. That place where we fell in love. Where I dropped a hot cup of tea on my pants And we ate sushi on the beach. I love the beach. I am not ready for the ice festival or your new boyfriend. He smells like bad disco and old people. This piano concerto that I play before bed, before awakening, I have your black dresser drawer in my bedroom, It glistens of our days of Jasmine and Roses. My mind blurs stories of you, her, and the other girl. Rad violin songs, a friend from Argentina has introduced me to Mystify me, I cannot hear straight or stand still. I have acquired A gift for shivering. Still I can feel your talons raking up my spine. Two fingers! Where? Why? How did you do that thing with your mouth? I count upwards from you and in my peaking hours of misfortune, I Never come back down to earth's giant centrality of duel existence. My gut expands into my chest, my nervous system and anxiety is All of you, a lot of her, and none of the other girl. I make half inch black markings on the wall, this curse of feeling and not forgetting That never goes away.
martin-narrod
Written by
38/M/American
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:23 AM UTC
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