Wednesday, 24 November 2010


I keep digging my hands into my pockets, because there just there I feel my eyes digging deeper and deeper until it seems vulgar.
But not as much, until he opens his mouth.
“You’re talented.”

And it gets more vulgar with sloppy kisses upon the tongue.
But the thing is that you never realize it or maybe realization comes mixing, adding a numb taste a ‘get the fuck away’ hint, like thought, ripping as you keep counting wondering where had the numbness gone.

It’s like taking another mouth all at once, not sure how and you keep thinking that it shall repeat, the bizarreness, the uneasiness. But it gets bold. As the demands get higher, like in a contest when it should be more and more.

Carved. Only when it’s carved inside you with stitches leaking out mixed with liquid you get the wound kissed by another wound, a big black gasping wound with the tips of it shot upwards that its found someone else.


(2014) Until now I pretty much just hid it as a regular short story, but it was written with the Thom/Michael pairing really.

Request more Thom Yorke/Michael Stipe fanfiction below in the comments section.


  1. I'm not sure I know what you mean but I think I like it. Hmmm...

  2. It's supposedto be confusing and a sort of whatever you want it to be.
    Thank you! Glad you like it!