chaosfox
ill never be domestic.. i've tried but my life just won't allow me to.
what a distraction. the sons-of-anarchy-looking guy on the harley in the left lane. hes doing it on purpose. he knows i see him. and he winks at me behind his aviator glasses.. at least by the smile on his face, i assumed there was a wink. red light. turn lane. goodbye, my real-life jax teller.
a light to flies; a fluorescent tie. to bind us together in one hapless life.
born of plague and washed in sand. i come to those in fever. i never said i couldnt contain you, although i claimed i wouldnt. they call me medusa, i belt a siren's chorus. and you're in love with my empire.. this is all we are.
I once dated a guy who was a lot like iron. It's heavy, magnetic, and metallic in nature... much like the start of our relationship. Shiny and new. No matter how much space you put between us we were always drawn to each other. But as iron does, it readily rusts... as we did. And that rust is all that's left of the empire we built. So much for iron, right?
i feel like a lot of things taste like styrofoam. not literally taste of it, but they hit that trigger in your head that spews out familiarity. like when you walk past someone you've never met on a crowded street, you get that feeling like you know them.. certain smells, textures, and tastes remind you of things... and a lot of things remind me of styrofoam.
writing since 2011 · 7 entries · 6 days shown up
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styrofoamremindtasteironliterallytastesheadguyempirelightlaneideafamiliarhittriggerspews