Category: random feels
If.
If I can love you, I will murder for you the sun & the moon. If I can ever be so close, I will look into your eyes & spit at them. If I have one belief, I will twist it into a cup for your tears. If I can forge anything, surely the spender will drive you mad. If I can sing for you the song that penetrates & suffocates. If I can make it right, no one can save you & nobody would care. If I can do all of these, would you worship me just as I feared?
Lush.
The night's air's fragrant like a Lush bath-bomb that I'm addicted to and never runs out but needed more so I splurged & ordered online then picked up at the store cause shipping's not free and there're people walking on the streets good location shopping district people needs space to feel safe & shopping is the common trait brings all people out even during pandemic I'm walking plague & yet I want the smell of blooming flowers then I cut them up & put into jars like reddit says then I got depressed again but I never run out of lush.
A bookmark.
I look for a humble bookmark to stand in a space I've been before. A promise to return sometimes after. Somehow life has become a maze bounded by the progresses & pauses, measured not by the pages but the will to keep traces.
Sleep.
A hug.
New Year, the Same.
I think & think that's all I ever do. Now I have to consider the likelihood that I'm sane, y'all are crazy. What's wrong with dreams? I'm sick of leaving a door open to let doubt in and your lives that are not even authentic. It's the same chorus, the same faces, I don't know what you want from me. Maybe nothing, I'm just self-important. I'm tired, I'm worthless, but I'm on the solid ground, a piece of land that I found. Maybe I shouldn't turn away so quick. You are there for back up, I appreciate it. But I have to say no to something. Delay after delay, thinking after thinking. So wrapped up, nothing wrong with criticism keeping you on the balance. Think, you. Think!
20-2077.
The right pillow.
I lay there waiting for the bed to relinquish its hold. I fondle my breast. It's warm & happy, unmolested by anyone, but me.
A lost poem.
What is love but a deep chill that you can't help reliving. What is love but a vertical cut that will never ever heal. What is love but a sweet sweet dream that entraps the soul.
hotsurf_ 