Sunday, July 23, 2006
my margarita
She lets the blade sniff the skin, sweet and vulnerable; kiss the skin, she urges -- warm and terrified. The first rush is warmer than her skin. She jolts at the distinction but looking down, she traces the winding red down to the nexus of pain, a treasure trove. She lets the two longest fingers linger on the skin above the beating organ. Strong and regular, she notes. Weak and thready, that fresh half-baked boy of a houseman said. What rubbish, what an obscene statement made oh-so-knowingly. What does he know, french fry.
It is in her hand now, crimson red fluid blanketing the black black heart. Why does it beat furiously, she doesn't know. What she does know, however, is what she would like to do to it.
Her fortune cookie reads a misfortune, deep-seated in her fate. If luck were to be hers, she would be serving the rest of her years to an anybodyman, the most distant of her choices maybe. Any considerations concerning her will always come second to the perfecto little momma he'll so gladly, so carefully, position on a pedestal. Like my little goddess.
If she departs, she'll depart as the pristine white marble baby. The purest of the non-vees. The quintessential Eve.
The grip of passion tightens on the heart, flowing angry lava. She realizes that if circumstances were to dictate her life and shape her destiny, then she'd have been born a child ready to return to the Maker. Ready to be unliving again.
She rains terse apologies down into the water, the baptize bath of the heart. Bubbling, it offers a what seems like a returned apology. Forgive me, it says, for allowing mud to be slung at you when all you were trying to do was to defend your fort. Forgive me, for rejecting every goodwill gesture of an anybodyman with a scorn. Understand that you had to bear the brunt of unwarranted affection and attention with much unease, for the anybodymen's hearts are made of thin thin ice.
She lets go; the heart falls all the way to the bottom of the bath, her heart sinks. 'If i should learn to live love, i would want to do it with none but you.'
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fara // 00:23
my margarita
She lets the blade sniff the skin, sweet and vulnerable; kiss the skin, she urges -- warm and terrified. The first rush is warmer than her skin. She jolts at the distinction but looking down, she traces the winding red down to the nexus of pain, a treasure trove. She lets the two longest fingers linger on the skin above the beating organ. Strong and regular, she notes. Weak and thready, that fresh half-baked boy of a houseman said. What rubbish, what an obscene statement made oh-so-knowingly. What does he know, french fry.
It is in her hand now, crimson red fluid blanketing the black black heart. Why does it beat furiously, she doesn't know. What she does know, however, is what she would like to do to it.
Her fortune cookie reads a misfortune, deep-seated in her fate. If luck were to be hers, she would be serving the rest of her years to an anybodyman, the most distant of her choices maybe. Any considerations concerning her will always come second to the perfecto little momma he'll so gladly, so carefully, position on a pedestal. Like my little goddess.
If she departs, she'll depart as the pristine white marble baby. The purest of the non-vees. The quintessential Eve.
The grip of passion tightens on the heart, flowing angry lava. She realizes that if circumstances were to dictate her life and shape her destiny, then she'd have been born a child ready to return to the Maker. Ready to be unliving again.
She rains terse apologies down into the water, the baptize bath of the heart. Bubbling, it offers a what seems like a returned apology. Forgive me, it says, for allowing mud to be slung at you when all you were trying to do was to defend your fort. Forgive me, for rejecting every goodwill gesture of an anybodyman with a scorn. Understand that you had to bear the brunt of unwarranted affection and attention with much unease, for the anybodymen's hearts are made of thin thin ice.
She lets go; the heart falls all the way to the bottom of the bath, her heart sinks. 'If i should learn to live love, i would want to do it with none but you.'
fara // 00:23
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♥ Fara. Forever20. Nurse. In the pursuit of kidnapping Happy.
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