from head to toe, I am a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me!
Needless to say, I am still tired, desperate, and unnervingly bored.
I tried many times to revive a part of you (or was it me?), and yet, it remains dead. And, it is at these times of self-discovery that I realised that I have allowed for, and wasted too much capacity on an empty man.
Ah, yes, back to the "delightful" stage of square one: a certainly unpleasant and fetal position to be in.
For some strange reason, I am eagerly anticipating the moment when we finally collide (if we do, that is). That is mainly because I am growing increasingly restless, listless and uneasy these days, and generally speaking, I don't feel so much so of... being natural or sincere, but rather, just forcibly friendly enough to carelessly abide by the ridiculous - as fucking hell- rule of human interaction, and necessity.
That's when you should hop in, and take me away in a carriage.
I must clarify that I am not in love with you (obviously, and definitely), and that I am not in denial. I might be intensely attracted to you in ways that I think might just kill me (but, I bet it will be a fantastic death). And why? Because I sense a certain fascinating heinousness and depravity hiding beneath your gleaming exterior, and maybe I thought, we can break our bad selves into unremarkable, and indistinctive pieces, then, shove them under a carpet, and laugh at everyone else who is whole, pure, and annoying.
That will give me several orgasmic climaxes.
I am sick, I know.
Therefore, this will be a pretty uninteresting declaration to hear: I can see myself doing all the fucking bad things I want to do, with you (well, unless you have a fucking twin, and I do know you don't).
What is not that easy to declare and admit though (well, it's sort of harder to fluently put it across, I must say), is that:
Sometimes, we all just want to have some fun, and excitement. Nothing too deep, or special. Or person-specified.
Sometimes, the lack of it gnaws at you, leaving you with a sexy, and sensual sort of numbness.
Most of the times, the lack of it gnaws at you with a raw ferocity, leaving you afraid, alone and, mostly average.
I must clarify that I am not in love with you, and that I am, mostly, up to a point where I strongly need to taste that vileness I so crave for. So screw me.
That's all really, and not so much of you per say.
I tried many times to revive a part of you (or was it me?), and yet, it remains dead. And, it is at these times of self-discovery that I realised that I have allowed for, and wasted too much capacity on an empty man.
Ah, yes, back to the "delightful" stage of square one: a certainly unpleasant and fetal position to be in.
For some strange reason, I am eagerly anticipating the moment when we finally collide (if we do, that is). That is mainly because I am growing increasingly restless, listless and uneasy these days, and generally speaking, I don't feel so much so of... being natural or sincere, but rather, just forcibly friendly enough to carelessly abide by the ridiculous - as fucking hell- rule of human interaction, and necessity.
That's when you should hop in, and take me away in a carriage.
I must clarify that I am not in love with you (obviously, and definitely), and that I am not in denial. I might be intensely attracted to you in ways that I think might just kill me (but, I bet it will be a fantastic death). And why? Because I sense a certain fascinating heinousness and depravity hiding beneath your gleaming exterior, and maybe I thought, we can break our bad selves into unremarkable, and indistinctive pieces, then, shove them under a carpet, and laugh at everyone else who is whole, pure, and annoying.
That will give me several orgasmic climaxes.
I am sick, I know.
Therefore, this will be a pretty uninteresting declaration to hear: I can see myself doing all the fucking bad things I want to do, with you (well, unless you have a fucking twin, and I do know you don't).
What is not that easy to declare and admit though (well, it's sort of harder to fluently put it across, I must say), is that:
Sometimes, we all just want to have some fun, and excitement. Nothing too deep, or special. Or person-specified.
Sometimes, the lack of it gnaws at you, leaving you with a sexy, and sensual sort of numbness.
Most of the times, the lack of it gnaws at you with a raw ferocity, leaving you afraid, alone and, mostly average.
I must clarify that I am not in love with you, and that I am, mostly, up to a point where I strongly need to taste that vileness I so crave for. So screw me.
That's all really, and not so much of you per say.
