Ooooooh I need a dirty woman...
Prowlers come out at night, but so do prowls.
“You shouldn’t be here…”
I looked at her red cherry lips, her jet-black curls that fell on the left side of her face, almost hiding her black childish eyes, a lovely bunch of light freckles surrounding her nose and scattered on the sides of her cheeks, her sweet-scented neck and her candid breasts, small, but delicious…
I could see the red lace of her back underwear through her thin, baggy shirt, the only cloth she was wearing, it barely managed to cover her thighs… black fishnets wrapped her long legs, just the colour that she knew would drive me insane.
…God, how beautiful she was…
I lifted my gaze back to her eyes, she smiled, noticing longing in my eyes, standing mischievously before me, almost posing, a wicked model with a fascinating, dangerous smile.
“My… my motorbike broke… three… or maybe four blocks from here… I was wondering… if I could stay for the nig…” her playful laugh hushed me.
For a moment, just for a moment, the blood in my veins turned ice cold, at the thought she could have read my mind and sensed my lie, so I cursed myself a million times though my teeth for letting
my mind roam beyond the boundaries I had imposed.
“Please, for once in your life, don’t deceive me, don’t leave me now… I can’t make it without you, I can barely stand on my feet, please, now, stay in control” I pleaded with myself
I shivered as she brushed my lower lip with her thumb
“Cymbaline, I…”
She was playing with the collar of my shirt, smoothing it, lifting it up, pulling me towards her
“You’re soaked…”
It was pouring rain.
But I went out even then, I travelled across half of the city on my motorbike to be there, to meet her, my charming mistress, the woman who put a spell on my heart with one, sweet word of those cursed, cherry lips.
But my woman, the one who owned my body, was not with me, she was far, miles and miles of grey wasteland and a thousand sky tears away.
Waiting at the window… she sighs, gazing into the distance, a speck on the horizon, desolate, hoping to see the shallow light of that headlamp, in that foggy November night.
Motionless but faithful, as seasons pass her by, whipping burning marks on her skin, the wife of a sailor, of a long lost soldier, sitting on the dock, still waiting for her man to come home, silent waves lapping against her feet, wind sweeping her hair.
Dinner is on the table… has she dined yet? It’s getting cold… maybe she’s crying, maybe she’s looking at her wrists, maybe… five drawers in her desk… the third… empty but a pencil and a knife…
Cyanide… which one will you pick up this time?
I can see you…
Your white lips squirming in pain, as a whimper escapes them, as the knife cuts the flesh of your restless, fervid imagination and ink of blood stains your ashen pages.
You moan in the darkness and you think no one can hear you…
…I do…
I… my little, fragile Cyanide, I feel you, your skin of the purest silk, your straight blonde hair, that flower made in back satin, you always wear on your ear, with those long, light feathers, fluttering all around, your kind manners, your affection…
You’re an angel, my Cyanide, a pale black angel…
“What are you thinking of?” I sense a warm breath on my neck… I can’t take it anymore…
No I shouldn’t have knocked at that door, in first place, following my instincts…
I shouldn’t have let those silky hands undress me, those luscious lips kiss me ever lightly, stealing a piece of my rationality with every little bite.
I could taste on my tongue a wild, uncomfortable pleasure, mixed with a bitter hint of regret, but I let the first feeling overwhelm me.
I had no idea of what I was doing, nor why, I just knew I wasn’t able to think, I don’t remember even trying.
…Get on your knees, little girl…
I wasn’t only cheating on my woman, I was deceiving myself, yes, for the thousandth time in my life I let my mind roam too much and deceive me… but the night isn’t a time for regrets of any kind, regrets only come at dawn, with the first, pale daylight.
“Go on, Cymbaline, love…”
I had no idea of what I was doing, nor why, but I was sure that for the lips of that woman I would have sold my soul… and that was exactly what I had done…
…Ride me, baby, ride me in this race down to hell, lead me in the gloomiest depths, show me your tricks… more, always more…
Sugar let get this night to pass us by, let some good times roll, I want you, I want all of you, tonight, and so turn me on, my sweet child… now… don’t make me think, or I’ll regret this night… run little girl, run as fast as you can… I’ll let you lead the way, for tonight…
Your soft hips and your big, dark doe-eyes, can you feel it baby? Is it too much for you? Then look at me in the eyes and whisper, look at me in the eyes and scream and feel it, baby, feel it all, don’t leave an inch behind, show me baby, show me your sinful ways…
And ride, little girl, ride… ride my libido tonight…
Run, little girl, run… it’s right behind you, it may eat you alive…
Here it goes, immoral but conceptual
Experimenting original charaters, Cymbaline and Cyanide
I know it may be a little difficult to follow unless you're in my head (so I should call you a lunatic) but if you made it to the end alive I love you
“You shouldn’t be here…”
I looked at her red cherry lips, her jet-black curls that fell on the left side of her face, almost hiding her black childish eyes, a lovely bunch of light freckles surrounding her nose and scattered on the sides of her cheeks, her sweet-scented neck and her candid breasts, small, but delicious…
I could see the red lace of her back underwear through her thin, baggy shirt, the only cloth she was wearing, it barely managed to cover her thighs… black fishnets wrapped her long legs, just the colour that she knew would drive me insane.
…God, how beautiful she was…
I lifted my gaze back to her eyes, she smiled, noticing longing in my eyes, standing mischievously before me, almost posing, a wicked model with a fascinating, dangerous smile.
“My… my motorbike broke… three… or maybe four blocks from here… I was wondering… if I could stay for the nig…” her playful laugh hushed me.
For a moment, just for a moment, the blood in my veins turned ice cold, at the thought she could have read my mind and sensed my lie, so I cursed myself a million times though my teeth for letting
my mind roam beyond the boundaries I had imposed.
“Please, for once in your life, don’t deceive me, don’t leave me now… I can’t make it without you, I can barely stand on my feet, please, now, stay in control” I pleaded with myself
I shivered as she brushed my lower lip with her thumb
“Cymbaline, I…”
She was playing with the collar of my shirt, smoothing it, lifting it up, pulling me towards her
“You’re soaked…”
It was pouring rain.
But I went out even then, I travelled across half of the city on my motorbike to be there, to meet her, my charming mistress, the woman who put a spell on my heart with one, sweet word of those cursed, cherry lips.
But my woman, the one who owned my body, was not with me, she was far, miles and miles of grey wasteland and a thousand sky tears away.
Waiting at the window… she sighs, gazing into the distance, a speck on the horizon, desolate, hoping to see the shallow light of that headlamp, in that foggy November night.
Motionless but faithful, as seasons pass her by, whipping burning marks on her skin, the wife of a sailor, of a long lost soldier, sitting on the dock, still waiting for her man to come home, silent waves lapping against her feet, wind sweeping her hair.
Dinner is on the table… has she dined yet? It’s getting cold… maybe she’s crying, maybe she’s looking at her wrists, maybe… five drawers in her desk… the third… empty but a pencil and a knife…
Cyanide… which one will you pick up this time?
I can see you…
Your white lips squirming in pain, as a whimper escapes them, as the knife cuts the flesh of your restless, fervid imagination and ink of blood stains your ashen pages.
You moan in the darkness and you think no one can hear you…
…I do…
I… my little, fragile Cyanide, I feel you, your skin of the purest silk, your straight blonde hair, that flower made in back satin, you always wear on your ear, with those long, light feathers, fluttering all around, your kind manners, your affection…
You’re an angel, my Cyanide, a pale black angel…
“What are you thinking of?” I sense a warm breath on my neck… I can’t take it anymore…
No I shouldn’t have knocked at that door, in first place, following my instincts…
I shouldn’t have let those silky hands undress me, those luscious lips kiss me ever lightly, stealing a piece of my rationality with every little bite.
I could taste on my tongue a wild, uncomfortable pleasure, mixed with a bitter hint of regret, but I let the first feeling overwhelm me.
I had no idea of what I was doing, nor why, I just knew I wasn’t able to think, I don’t remember even trying.
…Get on your knees, little girl…
I wasn’t only cheating on my woman, I was deceiving myself, yes, for the thousandth time in my life I let my mind roam too much and deceive me… but the night isn’t a time for regrets of any kind, regrets only come at dawn, with the first, pale daylight.
“Go on, Cymbaline, love…”
I had no idea of what I was doing, nor why, but I was sure that for the lips of that woman I would have sold my soul… and that was exactly what I had done…
…Ride me, baby, ride me in this race down to hell, lead me in the gloomiest depths, show me your tricks… more, always more…
Sugar let get this night to pass us by, let some good times roll, I want you, I want all of you, tonight, and so turn me on, my sweet child… now… don’t make me think, or I’ll regret this night… run little girl, run as fast as you can… I’ll let you lead the way, for tonight…
Your soft hips and your big, dark doe-eyes, can you feel it baby? Is it too much for you? Then look at me in the eyes and whisper, look at me in the eyes and scream and feel it, baby, feel it all, don’t leave an inch behind, show me baby, show me your sinful ways…
And ride, little girl, ride… ride my libido tonight…
Run, little girl, run… it’s right behind you, it may eat you alive…
Here it goes, immoral but conceptual
Experimenting original charaters, Cymbaline and Cyanide
I know it may be a little difficult to follow unless you're in my head (so I should call you a lunatic) but if you made it to the end alive I love you