(no subject)
Dare you to defy me my love? Dare I even think of a name like that for you, my love? what will the fates say in a month when I am sick and you have run back home to her, my love? is this all I can imagine? A second rate relationship, one of fantasy, absolutely no truth to it? When did I start loving pictures? Images of two-dimensions with a quality of none? Your face is the pale moon when the fog of my mind erupts into a maddening cloud. The light emanating from it in glorious ruin for my future. I am sick, sick, sick, my love. And you know not of the fever that is running it's course in these dried veins. I want I want I want your skin and it's slither upon mine. The delicacy of your body, the swagger in your jeans, the sheath of your aggression all turn their bloody swords to my demise. This falter will be my death, my incognito rendition of some truth there never was. Why do I love the pictures? Why can't you love my truth? Why do I hate this womanly shell? ?As though I live for someone's appreciation....but never yours.