Eight steps away,he stood, Amidst the smoke, he smoked. His veins popped Green, Over his wheat like skin. I place the hand beneath my chin, Metaphorizing his apparent age to mine. Remember those delighted little girls, Tossed,tickled and furled. Their young adult neighbours, Perquisitely whom the dolls favour. The gaze that they give at them, From beneath with heads up and a long stare...
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 weight of mortality is tiring i want to tear it from my veins bleeding silver and gold till i can feel something again i want to carve my name into my own heart be on the ivory pillars of history maybe one day they'll chant my name or paint me into the constellations and name galaxies after me
you're wearing bright red lipstick and a little black dress but you are a mess and you can't even give the taxi the right address. You smell of cinnamon and sugar mixed with marijuana and when you laugh I can see the fillings in the back of your mouth and I resist the urge to touch your cheek and feel the curves of your body beneath your clothes. I can taste smoke at the back of your throat and I remember the way you once wrote. I think maybe I'll love you until this ******* has left my veins. What was your name again?