Last night we watched the sky, counting stars, absorbing their shine. We didn't dine. We walked. We talked of constellations with infinite existences and then made up some of our own. We broke a telephone. The telephone was broken. Also, we lit fire to dollars. We ignited money. Your lips were sweet like honey and sticky with wine. I couldn't see too incredibly well on account of it being nighttime, yet I'm sure they (your lips) were stained a most attractive red. The next day, I felt sick. I laid and stayed in bed.
Eventually I awoke from broken and bad dreams, covered in sweat. Sweaty yet cold. You- well, I do not know how you felt or how you feel now, because you are now no more. You are gone. You have evaporated, you have dissolved, you have disappeared. Disappeared into air that was not thin but thick, heavy, muggy, and humid with my tears, my sweat, and a bit of my regret. But only a bit. Eli told me that "you can't regret something you learn from," or something to that effect, to which I smiled sardonically (somewhat, at least) and said: "I regret when I do not learn from a situation."
Hesitation and lack of confidence are always precursors to the fall. The catalysts of our upsets. The catalysts of our upsets are printed (on our intellect's wall) and surprisingly easy to read and even easier to feel.
All we ever meet are crazy people. Really. You were on the city bus with me, you were sitting ever-so-precariously (almost lazily) across from a crazy lady (who was talking loudly and angrily to nobody), you crossed your legs- I mean to say: you were cross-legged and sitting on a seat across from an insane woman and wedged between two men who were also apparently riddled with insanity. Strangely, we didn't really look at each other very much, but right when I decided to spontaneously push the button or pull the string to ring my stop so did you- at the last possible moment the "coach operator" would have allowed it- and we both hopped off.
You sidled up to me oh so coquettishly. You said you liked the stripes on my pants. I sighed inwardly, then glanced your body fully from the corner of my eyes; I was happy with what I saw so I didn't ask you to leave my side. You followed me. Well, at first you were following me, but suddenly without any type of warning I was a puppet on your string following you blindly throughout the night. Into forests, fortresses, and alleys alike. You talked of your psychiatrist then began popping pills. A boyfriend of yours or someone or something began screaming and threatening to kill himself- you told me you were crazy. I have been told, before, that I too am crazy.
This greatly excited, interested, and perplexed me (simultaneously). For, there were only eight persons on that public-transit automobile, which means: five out of eight people on the bus were crazy. All we ever meet are crazy people. I don't like to fight. Tonight we will improvise. And, tomorrow we shall die.
Eventually I awoke from broken and bad dreams, covered in sweat. Sweaty yet cold. You- well, I do not know how you felt or how you feel now, because you are now no more. You are gone. You have evaporated, you have dissolved, you have disappeared. Disappeared into air that was not thin but thick, heavy, muggy, and humid with my tears, my sweat, and a bit of my regret. But only a bit. Eli told me that "you can't regret something you learn from," or something to that effect, to which I smiled sardonically (somewhat, at least) and said: "I regret when I do not learn from a situation."
Hesitation and lack of confidence are always precursors to the fall. The catalysts of our upsets. The catalysts of our upsets are printed (on our intellect's wall) and surprisingly easy to read and even easier to feel.
All we ever meet are crazy people. Really. You were on the city bus with me, you were sitting ever-so-precariously (almost lazily) across from a crazy lady (who was talking loudly and angrily to nobody), you crossed your legs- I mean to say: you were cross-legged and sitting on a seat across from an insane woman and wedged between two men who were also apparently riddled with insanity. Strangely, we didn't really look at each other very much, but right when I decided to spontaneously push the button or pull the string to ring my stop so did you- at the last possible moment the "coach operator" would have allowed it- and we both hopped off.
You sidled up to me oh so coquettishly. You said you liked the stripes on my pants. I sighed inwardly, then glanced your body fully from the corner of my eyes; I was happy with what I saw so I didn't ask you to leave my side. You followed me. Well, at first you were following me, but suddenly without any type of warning I was a puppet on your string following you blindly throughout the night. Into forests, fortresses, and alleys alike. You talked of your psychiatrist then began popping pills. A boyfriend of yours or someone or something began screaming and threatening to kill himself- you told me you were crazy. I have been told, before, that I too am crazy.
This greatly excited, interested, and perplexed me (simultaneously). For, there were only eight persons on that public-transit automobile, which means: five out of eight people on the bus were crazy. All we ever meet are crazy people. I don't like to fight. Tonight we will improvise. And, tomorrow we shall die.
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