strawberrychampagne
The worst word to pop up for the day. It's brings you back when they got shot and tossed in a river to be discovered the next morning. And the phone call when they told you "how do you want bad news" and you said "rip the bandaid off" because you didn't think it would be so bad. But it was. And you're not fine. But everything's okay. Just okay.Give me hope through a messy life.
A weighing of souls, and their worth. A trial, like death, is something every being shares.
Something that is mine and only mine. Selfish, but something of pride. An emblem you were proudly on you. Given by others, or was it forced?
Never mind then.
Perhaps it is something of shame.
There's a low thrum that's pumping through her body, or at least that's what I think is happening. She's drumming her fingers in rhythm to music that no one else will ever hear, and probably shouldn't be (or they would be making memories with little blue pills). She kicks her legs over the edge of the square she's occupying, high up in the sky, and as I leave, I imagine yanking her only sturdy base from under her. It is not fair.
Explosive orgasm, cigarette and a rainy day.
It was a little bit dark, heavy breathing from both sides. Snuggled into his chest I caressed him, running my hands up and down his arm and my soft fingers met with ridges, and I caressed those too. His breathing slowed, his lips found my ear, he held me closer and said "Most people avoid them." And I turned my head and met his lips with mine and whispered into them, "I like them. They're a part of you, and you're beautiful." And he smiled and held me closer, it becoming too hot under the blankets but neither of us wanting to let go.
It says a lot about the heart, when emotion turns into faith and your faith into your religion. Worshiping idols never took her very far.
I do not need your heart, tho' I would like it. I do not need your words, tho' I would love them. I do not need your pity or your tears or your sorrow, I would rather see them dry. And all of the feelings in the world you could not give me, even if you wanted to, even tho' we would bathe in healing. What I need, is your arms, your chest, your body tight against mine. What I need is that secure murmur that your blood whispers when I am held.
It's boiling warm, sparking. It reaches every pore and it breathes and it moves. It fills every corner, climbing higher and higher and higher until little drops spew forth, leaving black angry burns all over the ground. And you feel... alive.
I am always tempted to stretch out a little further, to just brush the tips of my fingers against the forbidden fruit. I promise myself just one touch, and no further, if I give in just a little bit I will go no further. Yet when I get so close, I am tempted more, for the smell of that sweet fruit, tempts me to taste, and yet I curl my fingers back towards myself, knowing if I reach out the poisons on MY skin will rot that lovely fruit. And yet, I am tempted, as I see her reach for you, and you don't shrivel.
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writing since 2010 · 23 entries · 23 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Champagne showed up.
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the words Champagne reaches for
fingerslovelipsfurtherhesitatingleasthearclosertemptedfruithigherthoheldgorgeousaudiencetrue