lolalovesheroin

Just seconds, minutes, hours days pass and take sections of me with them. To me you shall be unique in all the world. Urgency and dollish deadeyedness made us fit to kill for the reassuring contact of spectral skinlipshandsetcetera (while moonlit explorations gave the taste of our flesh a fair trial). separation– a classic brand of thumbscrew bullshit my sepulchre, sealed shut with enough words for 1000 novellas. God, I swear I'll take this to my grave. I'm sorry to tell you I have died of circumstances. This metaphor is overused; girl lies in bed, boy kills her young heart, yada ya . . . And we'll take this further, this metapho

laid between my languid sheets last night i dreamed you were there, we were else. woke to blinking/shuttering of a bitter, wolf-hungry morning bent on revenge (god your skin) the nerve-chill shot from the palm lines i read to you was that a physical thrill or the guilty pleasure of your contact climaxing in my hand as we held them clasped in desperate jubilation? quickremember the song they played during those last painful moments (this is when you repeat the words "you don't know what you do to me" and i pull you all savage against me") like screaming in my languid sheet fortress each pulse and lulling word makes me die a little m