Convenient manners

There it is, look at it for crying out loud… crisped from extreme cold leaf on a naked tree in the middle of a long winter night, a vain promise of white within white cover. I might easily succumb into nostalgia and spend the rest of the better part of an hour staring at that lonely sad sight without blinking, occupying my mind with melancholia coherent only with this frozen winter breath coming out of my mouth. But there’s no snow in sight, and I’m not going to doubt for a minute to stay here, of course…

In my fraudulent winter walk, I’m going to use these long legs to position myself somewhere warmer, out of sight and everywhere at the same time. The only functioning melancholia I have at the moment is the dystopia in my mind, this desired state of kink I’m living constantly, the only prescription for the mind contagion I’m so comfortably accustomed to enjoy. There’s no escape from here, and I have things to say.

So I do what I must do, and I do it in a convenient manner. Restlessly I make my moves across this board of life, hoping that this game is never going to change, never going to end; I don’t need to win or lose, I don’t have desired outcome sculpted from expectations and disappointments, I just need to be in the middle of the game. This loud beat is my track, and I'm that dancer... so, I dance!

All those men inside me

The tune of your smile gently opens old distant frontiers, making me forget myself, who I am, what I am. And I start to think, I’m someone else, someone without a past, my past. A freshness of your touch guides me toward nostalgia of my innocence, lost somewhere in times before rain began time. That forgotten beauty of my soul can easily convince me that I need you to open my days every single morning, and close them in the depths of every night. I could even deeply care for everything which you think that you represent, purity and innocence at heart…

But, that wouldn’t be me, that haven’t been me for ages now. I am that disturbed occult preacher, whipping your naked soul. This wild heart should be your punishment, a twisted omen for what you deserve when you tell a lie. And your lies are kept in pits so dark and deep, revealed by your consciousness only to souls like mine… deranged by habit.

So, I’m going to forgive you the half of it, because you showed me who you truly are… I’m not going to enter you, this time out of pity! You’re lucky, I always show an affinity toward sexual release, but I rarely show affinity for absolution… many faces in here, in the kaleidoscope of my personality, and I’m showing you just one; though it seems that some men in me are getting really tired. Next time… well, we'll see how it goes, why bother and try to predict the future!? It is what it is, how it is…

My potent pale ember… we are victims of ourselves. 

Another day another lie left in ruins, somewhere out of sight;)