lolita is lovebrought to you by the isLove Generator

( More of this 'love' bullshit. )

And the routine, perfunctory motions through which we go as if to delude ourselves and each other into believing this has depth beyond stoned musings and conventional sex ( Read more... )

You should be in my space. You should be in my life.
You should be in my space. You should be in my life.

You could be in my space.Engulfed now in the pool of self-pity and self-destruction. I am eating, yes -- hating every bite, but eating just the same. This I anticipate will change in frequency when I work myself into the frenzy. The ( Read more... )

A lonely life, this. 4:07 AM does not caress my baby-oil-scented skin quite like it used to; old flames eventually do burn out when untended, uncared for, left to linger, smolder, alone with a throat sore from bonfire smoke. Thus the entire hour of 4 AM has a sharp chip on her cold shoulder and I am left bewildered with lukewarm watered-down tea ( Read more... )

Days drift lazily, bobbing up and down on the placid waves of a lake not desiring the spoon of fate to stir its waters, to loosen the sand at the bottom and unleash long-forgotten remnants of yesterday's sunken ships, decaying memories best left in the soggy silt of the graveyard below. I decide now that each of us has a Godot, whether we ( Read more... )

Magenta pink: the color of fuzzy warm familiarity in your latest catch. The thrill of discovery and that drum beat that you want to say you know. But it is new. It is all new ( Read more... )

A metallic worm, cold, wriggling, my heart all aflutter are you fucking kidding me? don't you dare let the hopes smoke you up. No getting high on these shakiest of grounds. And yet you wish, you do wish, that the fear that writhes inside like that smallest of worms would simply find its way out, blind or not, leaving your heart with a steady ( Read more... )

Unfathomable ( Read more... )

Ache seems to have stitched itself to my being, just to the right of my tummy, searing and glowing angry red like a blinking light on a printer out of paper, accusing you with that beady eye, flashing at even intervals All Night Long. You stare. The wall is pink near the light who so blinks ( Read more... )

Selves multiply, cancer cells. A room full of funny smells. Intentions not so much malignant as they were selfish. Serve, serve, serve, until all the selves have had their share and then leave the crumbs and you in your hell, and for that I can only apologize. And smoke a cigarette ( Read more... )