he swallowed me in, through his reluctant eyes dissolving me within his tears I followed him in, drifting through the slide freefalling across my fears
I slid and slid, with an ego and an id hanging on for sweet life a fumble, a plunge a tumble, a lunge slashing the harness with a palette knife a bungle, a crash a stumble, a splash and I finally rammed through his thick walled, muscular heart
but these poets spoke of hearts like it's a piece of raw art a garden blooming with freesia a land of honey and milk with sands of satin and silk where worries vaporise like amnesia woody vines of globules green climbing all over its walls where passion floods like waterfalls and whiffs of lavender careens
but this reeked of fresh blood reverberating with distant thuds boom boom boom boom.. chambers & alleys of a crimson room dark and uneasy, stark and queasy the walls collapsing tightening with affection the valves prolapsing and a gush of projections
I skedadled, puncturing through his chest I straggled, frantic and undressed but I ran and ran sore and afraid of the gore and the retrograde then turned around to see his head crouching over his knee and I couldn't help but feel mortified at the gaping hole I'd left behind tormented and suffering by all that will be and all that has been
we all knew it was coming we just didn't know when and then when it does it feels like a punch on our face in slow motion with dolby surround sound that echoes within the four walls of our consciousness like the eerieness of evening bells in unison, like the ferocious black waves of an ocean, like the vibrations of an early morning call, still doesn't feel real. This can't be it. This is not how it was supposed to end. I wasn't ready for it. I need a little more. like a season's cliff hanger I waited for a plot twist like a morbid nightmare I paused for it to end, but nobody woke me up for my eyes are wide open staring at nothingness but my heart is asleep with grief.
the strength with which you held on was fierce, and the grace with which you've left is violent.. an aftermath of quiet a disturbing blanket of peace it feels silly to be numb by a stranger's departure maybe that is the impact of a genuine artist who is taken for granted when he's alive and cried upon only after he's buried.
I wanted to write about something that didn't remind me of you. And so I didn't. Until now. I give in now, indulging in the diluted microdoses of your thoughts. Now that I'd staved myself off you, it's all the more satiating. Just enough to give me a kick while ensuring I don't fall, not again into this quagmire called love? Nah, addiction. That's what it is. Or was. An oxytocin rush, a dopamine douche, an adrenaline surge. And what wouldn't we give to experience the high again? Well nothing. that's about damn right. Too broke & too broken to give away any more free fucks. Pay for it maybe with some more vulnerability and I'd let you buy me a drink sometime.
this house of cards we've stealthily built, on wobbly pillars of desire and guilt
delicately balanced complicatedly nuanced a fluid and slow dance a tiptoeing trance a duel between yores and morrows b'tween pleasures and sorrows b'tween confusion and curiosity b'tween trust and honesty
we battle on and on for control we tattle on and on for another soul achingly aware that at the core of our hostilities is the front door of our vulnerabilities
an Eden where the fire longs to be consumed a freedom where tender desires bloomed
we laid down our weapons and played down our pretence exhilarated, adding another layer of height annihilated yet again by the first rays of sunlight
the night bursting open into ambers and pinks the walls lay broken, ambushed are the kinks the blushing dawn peeps through the curtain the flushing pheromones steeps through the uncertain
walking in on moments so pure and tragic she leaves behind a souvenir, drops of her magic the heat mellows into warmth with her cold touch and a house of cards crumbles with just so much
the lacunae turning loquacious, is often a casuist's most dreaded curse;
is it a lengthened longevity of its delusions? or a percolating prudence of its perceptions! panache of a pensive penmanship? or an underlying and prosaic precocity!
ostentatiously oscillating, jaywalking at the cross roads with blindfolds; the brevity of conciliation is its niche, there's seldom any respite for the corrugated brain, churning only to get corrupted with a dubiousness;
but then again, when asked about the self, or the extent of its eudaemonia, it isn't anatomized, may be a prospicience, or may be a sadness, yet to be birthed out of a hindsight!
At any hour, be it a drab day or deep into a nefarious night it seems neither obligatory nor perfunctory a borderline violation of the inhibitory volition she undresses her indispositions rattling the cage of a halcyon beast;
her voice enrages its vices as she awaits its atonement a moan of hers almost as frail as a whisper makes it claw the walls of properness a wily willingness is curtained as she pulls it closer to her faltering face she engraves her wishes on its bare chest the marks are a telltale of the erudite evidences a presage of the pleasure as pretext of purgatories for preferences;
under the holy vows eager to be diligently devoured she lets loose the reins of the beast for the carouse of her drippings the beast savours it like drops of wine a fermentation of her augmented arousal and it savours it in a decadence her wishes projected on its glistening face;
the tremors of its tongue over the luscious lips of hers a red hot knife over a crimsoned crevice fingers entangled while fallling through a precipice the throat profusely parched whilst the saliva perched on the tips she guides it through the wilderness sweltering it by the silkened whips of her whims;
a symbiotic semblance of a simmering symphony they utter their names as a pleasurable epithet a protraction deposited as it drivels an acceptance postulating its intended intensities crafting the cusps, changing positions the beast tamed as she is emancipated their battered bodies lying in the aftermath their eyes meet amidst a satiated wrath a silence beholding the promises of recurrence she wanes like a moon and it withers in her darkness!
Rebecca (1940) Psycho (1960)- My favorite horror movie. The Shining (1979) The Thing (1982) The Silence of the Lambs (1991) Orphan (2009)- My favorite modern day (post 2000) horror movie The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016)