Tell Me Why You Lie, And What It Is You Do To Keep Your Eyes All Shiny
Where have I been, these days seem such a blur.
Another year coming to an end, and I can't recall a time when it was more indefinable than it is right now.
Martinis and rain, ciders and snow; tell me again, how did we get to this place?
Spec took me crawling through the nature, looking for a thing that doesn't exist. Then we went to buy fries, because it was either fries or menudo, and you can't put gravy on menudo.
I was fine, even after two ciders. I was fine, right up until the sake.
I have vague recollections of obstructing a game of pool, and outtakes from Serenity.
I told Shinobi that he was an amorphous blur, and he kissed my forehead and gave me a hug. I have never seen him smile with such honesty, as he did at that moment.
There was something about the quiche? Faster, faster. Faster would be better. Ilford un-hooked the clips on my skirt, and Spec fondled my ass. A lot. I think I fondled hers as well.
Now the year is coming to a close. This time there will be no Mayhem biting my neck, no sense of who or what I am, no Spec to cling to.
I am not a Mojito cupcake. I am your Moby soundtrack, an over-used analogy sitting at the feet of Melpomene; I am painting your fingers eggplant, and you will hate me for it in the morning.
I need to change my skin.
~
Another year coming to an end, and I can't recall a time when it was more indefinable than it is right now.
Martinis and rain, ciders and snow; tell me again, how did we get to this place?
Spec took me crawling through the nature, looking for a thing that doesn't exist. Then we went to buy fries, because it was either fries or menudo, and you can't put gravy on menudo.
I was fine, even after two ciders. I was fine, right up until the sake.
I have vague recollections of obstructing a game of pool, and outtakes from Serenity.
I told Shinobi that he was an amorphous blur, and he kissed my forehead and gave me a hug. I have never seen him smile with such honesty, as he did at that moment.
There was something about the quiche? Faster, faster. Faster would be better. Ilford un-hooked the clips on my skirt, and Spec fondled my ass. A lot. I think I fondled hers as well.
Now the year is coming to a close. This time there will be no Mayhem biting my neck, no sense of who or what I am, no Spec to cling to.
I am not a Mojito cupcake. I am your Moby soundtrack, an over-used analogy sitting at the feet of Melpomene; I am painting your fingers eggplant, and you will hate me for it in the morning.
I need to change my skin.
~