Faces press into my floating palms revering something old, something foreign as dirt. I spit their colors into the sink. They bleed together, creating a plethora of images- conjoined, their edges disintegrating.
My shoulders swell when your lips drain my cheekbones. All I really want is for you to touch me without flinching, for you to follow a string of promises all the way down my collarbone.
Would you say that the prettiest images are the ones you can't make out? That's how I felt at nighttime on the border of the mediterranean sea. The power of man ceases there, right by the water. We would rather project our heads into the sky than explore the depths beneath our feet.
It's futile to scream in a glass prison. Death is just a junk headspace with hills made of black sand. So, take my advice: don't be afraid for anyone but yourself. Your mind is like a poison...
What about you and me, in Vegas? We can get wicked drunk and have sex on a blackjack table. We can stuff poker chips in our underwear and wrestle with our tongues.
If you really loved me you would do it. You think I'm sweet, but my chest is packed with tar. Don't expect to get anywhere with your intellect because quite frankly, I'm already bored of it.
Call me three times a day and hang up twice. Mark your initials into my
forearm, bite the skin until it bleeds. I'll lead us to a man-made sinkhole and jump. We can fall together, remembering that we're nothing but rag dolls with retinas and a sense of smell.
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