l'humeur a perdu dans vain
virtue is just some comforting staple that keeps everything in its rightful sphere. to hold us in amity is to knit our fresh hearts with a knot, take slipping graces and speak that which no one else can utter. all the little jealousies, which now seem so great, and all great fears, which now import their dangers, would then be nothing. truths would be tales.
all i desire is to know a life without desire.
all i loathe is those who live a life without loathing.
from every blistering corner i am attacked...drugged with something bittersweet and hardening. the veins in my arms tighten. i'm digging a whole by the grain. greeting each with disrespect and a poor temper. letting each quit and cool before moving the next.
this is all so threadbare.
it is so much easier to write when your mind isn't being taken over by sweet-talking concepts of escape and revenge. he's screaming at me to do something crazy.
like smoke a cigarette.
or say a dirty word.
fuck.
all i desire is to know a life without desire.
all i loathe is those who live a life without loathing.
from every blistering corner i am attacked...drugged with something bittersweet and hardening. the veins in my arms tighten. i'm digging a whole by the grain. greeting each with disrespect and a poor temper. letting each quit and cool before moving the next.
this is all so threadbare.
it is so much easier to write when your mind isn't being taken over by sweet-talking concepts of escape and revenge. he's screaming at me to do something crazy.
like smoke a cigarette.
or say a dirty word.
fuck.