choosing her subjects...
love is a liar.
she is a cheater, a liar and a whore. she wants you. to consume you. to hold you to her bosom and whisper sweet nothings to you till you drown in her eyes and break down the walls that keep you safe. and then she'll leave you defenseless, shattered by your own admission of guilt and desperation. slumped on the floor while she continues her burlesque dance tithing the crowd. tempting. tittilating. transfigurating.
there's a sour smell in the air. it stinks of staleness. like words that have been spoken far too many times. jokes that started off as witty and has since overpurchased the laughter. the stench, it permeates your body. your soul. it catches the smallest pore and fills it. refusing to leave. refusing to gain a catch. a lingering guest that just cannot take the hints. it is a nausea that makes you gag. but yet... it makes you want to breathe it a bit more.
isn't that weird?
pretty faces. rich voices. saccharine, diabetic promises you drink in. intoxicating. liberating. empowering and yet... it entwines you in its wispy, smoky mist. enfolding you in its twirls. enveloping you. imprisoning you. suffocating the last dregs of breath from you. and you clutch at your throat, choking. choking. choking.
do you know how cheaters work? they don't tell you a total lie. a world so out of this one that you cannot imagine how it could ever come to being. no, they hint. they give you subtle words that seeds your imagination. fertile in your mind, it grows. enslaving you in its potential. so the first bloom, you accept. you conclude. you believe. and that's how people believe that glass could be diamonds. and narwhales could be mermaids. most of the lie happens in your head. because to not believe in those things would be tragic. to accept everything, everyone at face value. to only see facts. evidence. proof. we might as well lie down, right down and give up.
we all need a little magic.
but love. love is a curse. it starts off like a blessing. a sparkle or a fanfare. starbursting in the night sky. the colours, they are blinding. and then your nostrils get a taste of the acrid smoke. it makes you splutter. cough. and you cover your mouth, your nose. trying to keep it away. but no, it's too late. you enjoyed its moment. and now you must walk in its wake. all the way to the waters edge. dip your toe in it. and shiver in its icyness. wake up you fool. see the reality's portrait. and shudder in disgust. thinking you could lie next to her. the morning will be a revelation. the morning will be the finale. the curtain call. the end of the line.
so it is. so it can be. so it could be. so it always will be.
love. it is a drug. and i'm addicted. so deeply caught in its petals. deep and crimson. i don't even realise it is the colour of my blood. soaked and iron. rich and revolting. its thorns have pierced my side. but i mistake them for gentle softness of skin on skin. skin on skin. skin on skin.
i can't live without it. and in its enslaving grace i will always rest. in its quiet mourning i will always rest. in its final words i will finally rest. unable to wake. move. breathe. love.
DuaGu
"Reaching answers..."
she is a cheater, a liar and a whore. she wants you. to consume you. to hold you to her bosom and whisper sweet nothings to you till you drown in her eyes and break down the walls that keep you safe. and then she'll leave you defenseless, shattered by your own admission of guilt and desperation. slumped on the floor while she continues her burlesque dance tithing the crowd. tempting. tittilating. transfigurating.
there's a sour smell in the air. it stinks of staleness. like words that have been spoken far too many times. jokes that started off as witty and has since overpurchased the laughter. the stench, it permeates your body. your soul. it catches the smallest pore and fills it. refusing to leave. refusing to gain a catch. a lingering guest that just cannot take the hints. it is a nausea that makes you gag. but yet... it makes you want to breathe it a bit more.
isn't that weird?
pretty faces. rich voices. saccharine, diabetic promises you drink in. intoxicating. liberating. empowering and yet... it entwines you in its wispy, smoky mist. enfolding you in its twirls. enveloping you. imprisoning you. suffocating the last dregs of breath from you. and you clutch at your throat, choking. choking. choking.
do you know how cheaters work? they don't tell you a total lie. a world so out of this one that you cannot imagine how it could ever come to being. no, they hint. they give you subtle words that seeds your imagination. fertile in your mind, it grows. enslaving you in its potential. so the first bloom, you accept. you conclude. you believe. and that's how people believe that glass could be diamonds. and narwhales could be mermaids. most of the lie happens in your head. because to not believe in those things would be tragic. to accept everything, everyone at face value. to only see facts. evidence. proof. we might as well lie down, right down and give up.
we all need a little magic.
but love. love is a curse. it starts off like a blessing. a sparkle or a fanfare. starbursting in the night sky. the colours, they are blinding. and then your nostrils get a taste of the acrid smoke. it makes you splutter. cough. and you cover your mouth, your nose. trying to keep it away. but no, it's too late. you enjoyed its moment. and now you must walk in its wake. all the way to the waters edge. dip your toe in it. and shiver in its icyness. wake up you fool. see the reality's portrait. and shudder in disgust. thinking you could lie next to her. the morning will be a revelation. the morning will be the finale. the curtain call. the end of the line.
so it is. so it can be. so it could be. so it always will be.
love. it is a drug. and i'm addicted. so deeply caught in its petals. deep and crimson. i don't even realise it is the colour of my blood. soaked and iron. rich and revolting. its thorns have pierced my side. but i mistake them for gentle softness of skin on skin. skin on skin. skin on skin.
i can't live without it. and in its enslaving grace i will always rest. in its quiet mourning i will always rest. in its final words i will finally rest. unable to wake. move. breathe. love.
DuaGu
"Reaching answers..."