(no subject)
I had a conversation with someone today. Probably the most honest person ever. It was brutal. It was disguisting. It was beatiful. To expose your past, and present. To say things, without blinking or histatitng. It was fucking poetry. But, of course, it was the vicious kind of poetry that rips your soul out. Everything from their mother being a controlling manupiulative, relationshiped troubled drug whore. To them, and the orgies they tend to regret, but don't because that is their relatinships. Them, their significant other and the sex partners. About beign hungry, aabout being alone...Just...fuck.
I sat. And what was I to say. I said nothing. What am I going to do, expose my life? I sat in awe at this. If someone were to slit my stomach open...and my intestinse spilled onto the ground...I still would'nt have my insides out like they did....Were they raised that way? Did they become that way?
Just....horrible hidiously beautiful.
I sat. And what was I to say. I said nothing. What am I going to do, expose my life? I sat in awe at this. If someone were to slit my stomach open...and my intestinse spilled onto the ground...I still would'nt have my insides out like they did....Were they raised that way? Did they become that way?
Just....horrible hidiously beautiful.