· On Art: Two people see a butterfly and one will want to put a pin in it. · Five AM. After working all night moving periods around before deciding to remove them altogether. Seems like a fitting time to realize: You're going to be 22 in four days. · I remember what it was like to make love to an idea; to feel it pressed against me: hot and moist and writhing. I imply no metaphor, but refer to the actual physical sensation. · LesserEvils (4:40:51 PM): rin I was at your house LesserEvils (4:40:51 PM): rin I was at your house LesserEvils (4:40:55 PM): and I pretended to be you LesserEvils (4:40:55 PM): and I pretended to be you LesserEvils (4:40:56 PM): talking to you LesserEvils (4:40:57 PM): talking to you LesserEvils (4:41:09 PM): there is a note from the postal service in your keyboard LesserEvils (4:41:09 PM): there is a note from the postal service in your keyboard LesserEvils (4:41:20 PM): I found it sticking way out of your box next to your door LesserEvils (4:41:20 PM): I found it sticking way out of your box next to your door LesserEvils (4:41:26 PM): I thought we were going to get together today LesserEvils (4:41:26 PM): I thought we were going to get together today LesserEvils (4:41:27 PM): let me know LesserEvils (4:41:27 PM): let me know LesserEvils (4:41:29 PM): love you. LesserEvils (4:41:29 PM): love you. LesserEvils (4:46:31 PM): also, I left a shit for you in your bathroom LesserEvils (4:46:31 PM): also, I left a shit for you in your bathroom · Living in an impressionist painting is a series of squints blinks teary eyed, questioning glances · black frames and a patch over one eye. As I stare through borrowed glass, the world warps and pulses not quite how I left it · dark lines meander to delicate fingers. Not so delicate, Porcelain. Mind and muscle, your eyes send a city soul to his books · early morning hot dog you you are the heart of my gas station romance · these are the gray days, the depths soft dim light over mattresses without sheets the slow realization that the plate of plain spaghetti has dropped to the floor shattered, broken the mass of pale noodles reaching out like some poor medusa's wig lazily stretching downward picking up a stray zucchini and slowly chewing · the summersick sipping water and swallowing with eyes clenched, subtly pained brushing a fly off the windowsill replacing the silence with the sound of a fan feeling the cool air on your sweat and looking down to see your nails have grown and are blackened with the grime of time passed while you were unaware · my mind is thirsty if not novels or curious facts, I stay up late drinking tidbits of private lives · tattered, worn comforter more comforting for its wear wrapped loosely around your body somehow more worn for its comfort |