Andrea Gibson you have broken and seeded my heart so many times you should get a fucking metal
in milk and whey
If it is true what they say. That often the eyes staring back at you are your own, does that mean the blood on my hands must I belong? I hope so in sake of the ones around me. But still, the sun is like honey some say while eating it. I find it to be more decadent like skin, hot. Always. Sometimes to hot and you must run into shadow for relief. But relief from a beauty must be a sin for the opposite is as well. My clean hands may still drip with water from my bath but my insides are wet forever, a life moisture that holds me tight. I wish only to bestow the same upon another. Warm embraces, hot like the sun. Sometimes too hot, but never to little. I will never ask you to surrender to me, in battle or in lust. I would rather you put up a fight and loose when its time to fall. Not to say I wont let you run, or to ask you to chase me. Some days all I see are the wrinkles in my future not yet presented on my face and thighs. My mouth hangs sadly, so I tell it to smile. If I feel like it maybe I will, rather infectious that feeling of stone. For now I want to watch the trees pass me by, quickly as the horizon waits for my collide. But I never do. How I long for an end to the roads I walk down, but to walk down any road from start to start, I still would not find an end. Still no relief. She haunts me without intention and I don’t blame her, I in fact wish her to continue till I loose all sense of unholy being and am lifted into what must be a dream. Much like the pyramids I climbed last night with my friends and the blue rats. I love a stranger who is still oblivious to my name. I will see the face or hear the voice. Feel her breath behind me churn then I will know! And when I lay in milk and whey there will be such a music to my ears, a silence only I can hear. I will stroke the sun that lay with me. Through tears I wish to see what relief I no longer need. I will know, and so will she.
