When I was a kid I had a little pine, Christmas tree, I used to just glance at it, not pay attention and now there are too much plants and no pine, just stale smoke in the air and the lights off, as my fingers tremble.
I try to think of that tree for whatever reason how I wanted it to grow and hang random things on it and in the end I did with Alison.
Now Kate does.
He sits near me and lights his cigar, hand running up my thigh.
I find the song and CD he chooses ironic and I just hold my head down, as I feel his lips tinger against my cheek and his hair is curly and I kiss him. I let my tongue wonder off in his mouth and then he pulls back.
“My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me”
He inhales and I just put my head down for a bit as I feel his fingers go around my neck, he holds my neck in his hands and I don’t breathe and then I look up, knowing that Alison is gone and Kate won’t show up.
I look at how he undoes my shirt.
“Where did you sleep last night?” Jack completes the song and I just shake, my bottom lip turning into ice and the words mumble themselves with my saliva, I don’t swallow, I just shake and stare at the man who I love.
He completes the song and he leans backwards, pushes me onto the floor.
I look at him in the dark with the song on repeat as it finnishes and he kicks me in the ribs, a pain digging in my body and I cough to get air, but I don’t move, wondering if I could get a pillow, let Jack be my pillow, before we sat, in the living room, naked and he started blowing me after telling me to marry.
I wouldn’t marry Alison, it had to be someone neutral, someone like Kate, who would go and would leave me for the night.
Yesterday she saw the bruise on my neck and kissed it, I just got tense, but she kept her lips there and I kissed her, thinking it were Jack, even if the body attracted me and I made love to a woman for the first time feeling it in years, not some excuse with Kate.
We both snuck out, Jack calling Alison and checking on the cupboards as I hid in a luggage bag, shivering, wishing to call out his name and feeling the heavy thrusts inside me.
I touched myself and came in the luggage, breating out when he left and numbly sucking on my fingers before I had a proper meal with Alison, herself taking my hand, saying how skinny I were, I wouldn’t eat much, I’d just think of the man I love-
Who kicks me again in the ribs and cries.
He tells me he loves me.
And kicks me again, grabs me from the floor and hurls me into a wall and his fist going backwards I expect a punch and it clashes with my cheek, blood going into my mouth and my tongue bit in the process, my eyes gets hit next time and he keeps crying, yelling that I am a whore, which he made.
And I look at him, how he hammers my shoulder a few times and it starts to ache. It starts to ache a lot and he hits my head against the wall, my fringe with blood used now as glue and I cannot see through my left eye and his tears smear across his face and the stale smoke is my scarf.
And I wrap myself in it.
Alison screams, I just rememeber how she yells at me to get up, but she doesn’t do anything, neather do I for the man I love. I stand up after a few punches go to my back and my fingers were bit when I was luying on the floor.
Blood is rushing, I feel like my brain is having a blood jacuzzi and he kicks me in the stomach and I fall down again, watching him kick me until I grab his leg and pull, maybe the last energy I will ever have. I don’t hurl him down the stairs, I grab his hair and pull, wondering if I could would I cut off his head.
I grab his neck and he looks at me, breathing
I tighten my grib
I don’t strangle him.
I stare into his eyes with my one own and leave him there after a few kicks on the ribs, when patches of blood are seen through and I grab a bit yellow pot which is something which is not a fir tree and Kurt is singing again.
“Don’t lie to me.”
-
I had that idea in the bus, but I had a completely different couple in mind and there wasn't a love triangle there, just abuse, domestic abuse actually, which is what I will be doing tomorrow, but I have a different plot for tomorrow's.
The plot besides being created on the bus, was inspired by Nirvana's cover of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night" which is quite a depressing song and so beautiful, getting back into Placebo and Nirvana recently, been off them for years, so rediscovering is a wonderful thing.
The song itself is beautiful and I wanted to use the whole married thing and pine trees. I had that little tree when I had been a child, I tend to give my child things to Jamie apparently, like Lucky the dalmatian in Lucky Screams :3
Thank you for the request and I think it was the first or one of the first times I've actually described a fight, as I've described murders, tortures, abuses but never fights or something similar to the one I've just written.
Really really hope you enjoyed it.
Feel free to request even if I have a few currently:)
<3
Alone in my kitchen
Thursday, 1 March 2012
Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 8
Yeah, she did.
Inhaling, exhaling, laughing as it was funny gas, as Jaidem would raise a brow blowing out the smoke slowly, watching it dissolve into the other pieces hanging in the air, wishing to be mixed with something coming out of Death’s mouth.
Jaidem through his cigarette out of the window, out of Macy’s passageway, as he called it. I ranted about his nickname seeing the invisible sarcasm he wanted to add. His eyes seemed to bore into me as he said that I shouldn’t idolize her, her laughing stopped. I said why not? He said I’d get bored off her and find shag. I wanted to answer with violence but instead he pressed a finger against my throat fiddling with something that I coughed and felt it’s earning to detach.
“Shouldn’t you rehearse your suicide scene, actor?”Jaidem asked in a mocking way, glancing at Macy as if they were previous or current lovers just to exit the apartment and to return with a glowing expression of a happy-happy flat mate with beer leaking out of the grocery bags.
They say fortune tellers can predict everything.
I once walked through a fair with Macy watching all hocus-pocus taking away the money for gold to be stuck instead of teeth in the owner’s mouth. One was waving her arms fanatically over an orb, glancing, shuffling cards her dark eyes landing on the intertwined fingers then back to Macy and at me. I watched her pick the hem of her skirt as her eyes would glint while glancing at Macy with a giant lollypop I couldn’t help but watch her keep glancing at Macy mumbling something under her nose until I yanked her hand and went towards the charlatan. She stood up, grabbing her hem with her, her boots in dirt.
The lady grabbed my left arm before Macy even opened her mouth. A horrid shiver ran through my hand, as her black eyes bored in my hand.
It lasted for a second before she threw my hand back, releasing her skirt to fall onto the ground but her fingers still grabbing hold of the fabric. She looked at
Macy with pity, before glancing at me as if I was the reason for all the misfortune in the world.
“How dare you! To end, end it all like that!” She spat onto the ground. “With one act, one-”
Macy slapped her.
The dark skinned charlatan stared at her, her eyes going wide, before her eyes looked down, muttering something glancing at Macy’s throat, wondering wherever to grab the girl’s hand or not. Not.
“Then end just like he! Sinners! Disgrace! Disgrace the both of you! Feeding, pleading one in the house just to end! Poison! Disgr-”
We both shut our ears, rather I did, feeling dizzy, feeling the earn to lie down, feeling everything spin at a horrid speed as she kept shouting what disgrace I was as Macy clutched both my hands trying to get hold of me as my face lay in the ground. I swear I saw hay.
“Not an actor you are! How are you supposed to act! Act such a role! Suicide what do you know of it! Young fool!”
I felt a string yank me up, but I could barely hold, I could feel Jaidem’s fingers upon my throat. I lunched myself at her, my fingers digging into the fabric of her scarf. I could barely breath as I gasped in quick breaths, lowering my head to her eyes.
“Fucking wait and see.” And I got hold of her jaw and dug my fingers into her jaw, feeling her blood go inside my nails and mix with my skin, devouring it, like an antidote not sufficient to end the torture. I felt it burn, but I slapped her, yelled at her, yelled at the running around press, Jaidem trying to lunge at my throat with a needle ready to decorate his jacket.
Inhaling, exhaling, laughing as it was funny gas, as Jaidem would raise a brow blowing out the smoke slowly, watching it dissolve into the other pieces hanging in the air, wishing to be mixed with something coming out of Death’s mouth.
Jaidem through his cigarette out of the window, out of Macy’s passageway, as he called it. I ranted about his nickname seeing the invisible sarcasm he wanted to add. His eyes seemed to bore into me as he said that I shouldn’t idolize her, her laughing stopped. I said why not? He said I’d get bored off her and find shag. I wanted to answer with violence but instead he pressed a finger against my throat fiddling with something that I coughed and felt it’s earning to detach.
“Shouldn’t you rehearse your suicide scene, actor?”Jaidem asked in a mocking way, glancing at Macy as if they were previous or current lovers just to exit the apartment and to return with a glowing expression of a happy-happy flat mate with beer leaking out of the grocery bags.
They say fortune tellers can predict everything.
I once walked through a fair with Macy watching all hocus-pocus taking away the money for gold to be stuck instead of teeth in the owner’s mouth. One was waving her arms fanatically over an orb, glancing, shuffling cards her dark eyes landing on the intertwined fingers then back to Macy and at me. I watched her pick the hem of her skirt as her eyes would glint while glancing at Macy with a giant lollypop I couldn’t help but watch her keep glancing at Macy mumbling something under her nose until I yanked her hand and went towards the charlatan. She stood up, grabbing her hem with her, her boots in dirt.
The lady grabbed my left arm before Macy even opened her mouth. A horrid shiver ran through my hand, as her black eyes bored in my hand.
It lasted for a second before she threw my hand back, releasing her skirt to fall onto the ground but her fingers still grabbing hold of the fabric. She looked at
Macy with pity, before glancing at me as if I was the reason for all the misfortune in the world.
“How dare you! To end, end it all like that!” She spat onto the ground. “With one act, one-”
Macy slapped her.
The dark skinned charlatan stared at her, her eyes going wide, before her eyes looked down, muttering something glancing at Macy’s throat, wondering wherever to grab the girl’s hand or not. Not.
“Then end just like he! Sinners! Disgrace! Disgrace the both of you! Feeding, pleading one in the house just to end! Poison! Disgr-”
We both shut our ears, rather I did, feeling dizzy, feeling the earn to lie down, feeling everything spin at a horrid speed as she kept shouting what disgrace I was as Macy clutched both my hands trying to get hold of me as my face lay in the ground. I swear I saw hay.
“Not an actor you are! How are you supposed to act! Act such a role! Suicide what do you know of it! Young fool!”
I felt a string yank me up, but I could barely hold, I could feel Jaidem’s fingers upon my throat. I lunched myself at her, my fingers digging into the fabric of her scarf. I could barely breath as I gasped in quick breaths, lowering my head to her eyes.
“Fucking wait and see.” And I got hold of her jaw and dug my fingers into her jaw, feeling her blood go inside my nails and mix with my skin, devouring it, like an antidote not sufficient to end the torture. I felt it burn, but I slapped her, yelled at her, yelled at the running around press, Jaidem trying to lunge at my throat with a needle ready to decorate his jacket.
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Swallow
“Cigarette?” And he offers me one, knowing that I am out of them and I am standing near him, struggling a bit due to his skirt.
My throat is a bit sore and he keeps smoking and he is in platforms, laughing at something he mentioned earlier but instead I sink it at the cross dresser, who seems to be my height, but feels too tiny.
I watched him in class, sometimes sitting cross legged, as he would act and I would look at how bright his lips were and how he would play female better than anyone else or how he would apply lipstick wherever the cigarettes would snatch the colour away.
I wondered if I took that one cigarette and took a puff, would I be the one to snatch the colour in that area.
I’ve been told who poofs where, I’ve seen some on the street, but I never had anyone right in front of me and someone who would still wear those platforms and manage to actually have sex with girls in a bright blue sweater and make out sometimes trying to be private. I had been looking for a carton of orange juice and he had a trolley.
I stopped right in front of it, wondering if I should identify him as female or male in those platforms of his.
“Hi, Jamie.” And he smiles and I always see him smoking in my head or both of us sitting on the stairs, not saying anything, sometimes I tap a tune with my fingers, sometimes he does.
“Hi, Brian.” I mimic and that’s it.
That’s where all our conversations went.
Besides a few times, when he asked me what I thought of such and such author or poet. Once he bragged about The Pixies and Sonic Youth, while chewing on an unlit cigarette, the wind playing with the hair, stealing the red lips for itself. Brian keeps talking about how complicated to apply nail varnish is and I try to point out the red in his hairs and in the end my fingers are entangled in the red of his and my fingers contain it as a sin and his hair is black again and his accent enchants London.
It’s too tense when he asks me to choose his first pair of high heels.
I stare at him wobbling, holding onto my arm and laughing at me, so much taller.
It’s too tense, as I grab hold of his hands in that small store which doesn’t kick him out and I swallow my saliva, still my own.
Before a tongue touches my own.
On the stairs when we smoke.
He hurls himself at me, he has a cock and it’s against my own, he is in his new heels and the legs intertwine and I steal his colour for my own.
-
It's called Swallow as even when I had my off phase of Placebo I always had Swallow, Swallow is I guess one of THE Placebo songs for me and Placebo in general is a special band for me, I've seen them live and I loved them, Christ, I still do and now I'm just rediscovering a great dead band, fuck me, let's all unite and buy Molko some drugs and I miss the whole sex appeal he had and it's a shame how he just tore everything off.
Thank you
Feel free to request for tomorrow:3
<3 null hypothesis
My throat is a bit sore and he keeps smoking and he is in platforms, laughing at something he mentioned earlier but instead I sink it at the cross dresser, who seems to be my height, but feels too tiny.
I watched him in class, sometimes sitting cross legged, as he would act and I would look at how bright his lips were and how he would play female better than anyone else or how he would apply lipstick wherever the cigarettes would snatch the colour away.
I wondered if I took that one cigarette and took a puff, would I be the one to snatch the colour in that area.
I’ve been told who poofs where, I’ve seen some on the street, but I never had anyone right in front of me and someone who would still wear those platforms and manage to actually have sex with girls in a bright blue sweater and make out sometimes trying to be private. I had been looking for a carton of orange juice and he had a trolley.
I stopped right in front of it, wondering if I should identify him as female or male in those platforms of his.
“Hi, Jamie.” And he smiles and I always see him smoking in my head or both of us sitting on the stairs, not saying anything, sometimes I tap a tune with my fingers, sometimes he does.
“Hi, Brian.” I mimic and that’s it.
That’s where all our conversations went.
Besides a few times, when he asked me what I thought of such and such author or poet. Once he bragged about The Pixies and Sonic Youth, while chewing on an unlit cigarette, the wind playing with the hair, stealing the red lips for itself. Brian keeps talking about how complicated to apply nail varnish is and I try to point out the red in his hairs and in the end my fingers are entangled in the red of his and my fingers contain it as a sin and his hair is black again and his accent enchants London.
It’s too tense when he asks me to choose his first pair of high heels.
I stare at him wobbling, holding onto my arm and laughing at me, so much taller.
It’s too tense, as I grab hold of his hands in that small store which doesn’t kick him out and I swallow my saliva, still my own.
Before a tongue touches my own.
On the stairs when we smoke.
He hurls himself at me, he has a cock and it’s against my own, he is in his new heels and the legs intertwine and I steal his colour for my own.
-
It's called Swallow as even when I had my off phase of Placebo I always had Swallow, Swallow is I guess one of THE Placebo songs for me and Placebo in general is a special band for me, I've seen them live and I loved them, Christ, I still do and now I'm just rediscovering a great dead band, fuck me, let's all unite and buy Molko some drugs and I miss the whole sex appeal he had and it's a shame how he just tore everything off.
Thank you
Feel free to request for tomorrow:3
<3 null hypothesis
Monday, 27 February 2012
Light Upon The Dance Floor
You know when that girl is just too good for you?
The way she hurls herself on stage and clothes seem like nothing, not just because it’s all too tight but because the sweat on her is still even dropping into her drink and she laughs.
I stare at her and I wonder how would it feel when she was younger, when I was younger and how would it feel if I’d snuck out and maybe it would be a small venue, maybe the New Year’s lights would be around with a few pumpkins lying under all the feat and girls would be in fishnets, listening and I would stand there.
“Alex?” Alison asks and her hair is now behind her, revealing the freaky blonde roots and I hold myself from poking them and I just smile, keeping the straw there, something I grabbed for an anecdote and she just smiled and I recall looking at her heels and wondering if I grabbed her and held her, would it be higher than her heels?
And then maybe the confetti would fall or some music would play as her arms would be around.
“Alex?”
She repeats my name and I do nothing, bending the straw in my fingers three more times.
I look at her drink, I drink her drink.
She drinks my drink.
Maybe it should be New Years.
And I would twirl her on the dance floor.
“Alex?” This time she is even laughing. Does she wear dresses which I can lift up as I take her to bed or in a morning hangover with her feet in my face and I get woken by a kick of her stretching out?
“Would you dance?” But I’m not in a tux. I’m in this jacket I had bought yesterday, not even checking it properly, so it’s a bit short on the arms, but I don’t bother and my hair went a bit down and her roots show too much and she looks like a rainbow ballerina, but I get her to the dance floor anyway and the music doesn’t seem to bad until you stop minding it and the hands just tremble really for a brief second.
Should I be a moron and not touch her hips? Waist?
Waist and go to the hips as her eyes glance around.
Jamie Hince is married.
Jamie Hince is married.
Jamie Hince is married.
“Would you marry me since Jamie Hince is married?” And it sounds wrong and it is a joke or rather a mumble of words and she doesn’t hear half the sentence but I don’t know which half.
And Alison just keeps dancing or rather her eyes are fixed on me and I look at how her eye pencil was used today and the song changes and the other three after it do and couples change, but we’re still on the dance floor and I wonder if we’ll head out for a smoke.
We eventually do, but Alison dances a bit as I light her cigarette and we’re just as mute, the crap music taking our tongues and I quickly glance into her mouth as she exhales the long smoke and eventually presses a kiss upon my lips, as I take her cigarette and I held them both between my fingers, as she gives her tongue in and presses me closer.
Maybe I should’ve looked when I was younger and bought a ticket to be among those fishnets, maybe just to have someone to wank to instead of barely remembering anything besides the nipples or the birth mark on the neck of the women I’d touch myself to.
-
I'll be honest I love it xD I myself was writing and enjoying it myself as I quite love Alex Turner despite my massive mockery hatred for the Arctic Monkeys. Being honest, really.
It's a more humorous piece unlike my usual, so I hope you enjoyed it and I am even quoting the Jamie Hince is married bit, I can fan girl over my work even if I do not look as cool as Morrissey in a The Smiths t-shirt, I'll still brag about it.
Thank you and I hoped you enjoy it feel free to request and I am open to anything new and any new pairing you can dare me :)
<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="a" data-blogger-escaped-href="http://graspthesanity.blogspot.com/2012/02/swallow.html">Swallow
The way she hurls herself on stage and clothes seem like nothing, not just because it’s all too tight but because the sweat on her is still even dropping into her drink and she laughs.
I stare at her and I wonder how would it feel when she was younger, when I was younger and how would it feel if I’d snuck out and maybe it would be a small venue, maybe the New Year’s lights would be around with a few pumpkins lying under all the feat and girls would be in fishnets, listening and I would stand there.
“Alex?” Alison asks and her hair is now behind her, revealing the freaky blonde roots and I hold myself from poking them and I just smile, keeping the straw there, something I grabbed for an anecdote and she just smiled and I recall looking at her heels and wondering if I grabbed her and held her, would it be higher than her heels?
And then maybe the confetti would fall or some music would play as her arms would be around.
“Alex?”
She repeats my name and I do nothing, bending the straw in my fingers three more times.
I look at her drink, I drink her drink.
She drinks my drink.
Maybe it should be New Years.
And I would twirl her on the dance floor.
“Alex?” This time she is even laughing. Does she wear dresses which I can lift up as I take her to bed or in a morning hangover with her feet in my face and I get woken by a kick of her stretching out?
“Would you dance?” But I’m not in a tux. I’m in this jacket I had bought yesterday, not even checking it properly, so it’s a bit short on the arms, but I don’t bother and my hair went a bit down and her roots show too much and she looks like a rainbow ballerina, but I get her to the dance floor anyway and the music doesn’t seem to bad until you stop minding it and the hands just tremble really for a brief second.
Should I be a moron and not touch her hips? Waist?
Waist and go to the hips as her eyes glance around.
Jamie Hince is married.
Jamie Hince is married.
Jamie Hince is married.
“Would you marry me since Jamie Hince is married?” And it sounds wrong and it is a joke or rather a mumble of words and she doesn’t hear half the sentence but I don’t know which half.
And Alison just keeps dancing or rather her eyes are fixed on me and I look at how her eye pencil was used today and the song changes and the other three after it do and couples change, but we’re still on the dance floor and I wonder if we’ll head out for a smoke.
We eventually do, but Alison dances a bit as I light her cigarette and we’re just as mute, the crap music taking our tongues and I quickly glance into her mouth as she exhales the long smoke and eventually presses a kiss upon my lips, as I take her cigarette and I held them both between my fingers, as she gives her tongue in and presses me closer.
Maybe I should’ve looked when I was younger and bought a ticket to be among those fishnets, maybe just to have someone to wank to instead of barely remembering anything besides the nipples or the birth mark on the neck of the women I’d touch myself to.
-
I'll be honest I love it xD I myself was writing and enjoying it myself as I quite love Alex Turner despite my massive mockery hatred for the Arctic Monkeys. Being honest, really.
It's a more humorous piece unlike my usual, so I hope you enjoyed it and I am even quoting the Jamie Hince is married bit, I can fan girl over my work even if I do not look as cool as Morrissey in a The Smiths t-shirt, I'll still brag about it.
Thank you and I hoped you enjoy it feel free to request and I am open to anything new and any new pairing you can dare me :)
<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="a" data-blogger-escaped-href="http://graspthesanity.blogspot.com/2012/02/swallow.html">Swallow
Sunday, 26 February 2012
cover me in varnish from head to toe
“Look at yourself in the mirror after you shower.” Jamie said once, maybe after brushing his teeth and I sat on the bathtub, eating an apple.
“Why?” I laughed, my hair in a low ponytail just so that nothing would bother me as much, it still felt unusual, but I sat on the edge, knowing all his girls and that one he had fucked doggy on the toilet.
He just told me to look and I just stayed there for a while, maybe waiting for the steam to lure Jamie in after all the air would stop being my coat and I would see which areas of my body would be needing a shave tomorrow and I would steal his razor again while laying in his bathtub, maybe as he’d talk to some girl and I would wonder if I should do my nails and I would, into a bright red colour, because that’s how the girls he likes look, so I stand here with the nails red.
He peeks in.
Jamie sees the nails and says they are nice.
-
It has the Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us feel and most likely it is just a future scene from it from Alison's point of view.
I like writing short stories, like short and grasping and Alison and Jamie.
I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to request for tomorrow.
<3
Light Upon The Dancefloor
“Why?” I laughed, my hair in a low ponytail just so that nothing would bother me as much, it still felt unusual, but I sat on the edge, knowing all his girls and that one he had fucked doggy on the toilet.
He just told me to look and I just stayed there for a while, maybe waiting for the steam to lure Jamie in after all the air would stop being my coat and I would see which areas of my body would be needing a shave tomorrow and I would steal his razor again while laying in his bathtub, maybe as he’d talk to some girl and I would wonder if I should do my nails and I would, into a bright red colour, because that’s how the girls he likes look, so I stand here with the nails red.
He peeks in.
Jamie sees the nails and says they are nice.
-
It has the Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us feel and most likely it is just a future scene from it from Alison's point of view.
I like writing short stories, like short and grasping and Alison and Jamie.
I hope you enjoyed it and feel free to request for tomorrow.
<3
Light Upon The Dancefloor
Saturday, 25 February 2012
Open Box
She fiddles with the white dress and it’s a bit too short and the scarf just falling around her shoulders to make it lest revealing gives her the feel that she might be young indeed, but then her hair would be short, but then she looks young, she looks like a child forced into life, just taken out of the insides with all the shells broken and all senses are given.
She eats a few raspberries and it’s early spring, but she wears that dress, even if it has a black outer layer, I still just see the white, maybe to see some irony with the awaiting wedding we all avoid and how she just wonders around the house, trying to get mascara right for the first time in years and I just watch the girl struggle, sometimes just looking up.
I feed her a raspberry, she opens her mouth to swallow.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask her, washing my hands off the raspberry with her tongue on my finger, I lure it out and her eyes just hold my gaze stronger.
“Nothing.” And her nothing hangs in the air as she washes more raspberries and the whole weight of groceries lately is just raspberries, maybe because it’s the only fruit she doesn’t see at the Hince’s.
“Why raspberry, Alison? Why did you stop the oranges for instance.” I don’t say anything else aloud, but then our conversations are held in silence as if every phrase we say is a Rubik’s cube solution away.
She just raises the hem of the dress a bit, maybe for all the raspberries to fall upon or maybe to trickle upon her feet as if they may be blood sometime soon or maybe she’ll hold the wounds until the wedding, but I could see Kate with her fourteen thousand nymphets and all the humans running around that force and myself sitting close to Alison and us just staring ahead, in time, waiting and guessing the flavor of the cake.
I got her cake for the morning, she still had the dress.
“I got you cake.” I say and I slice it.
“It’s not my birthday and there is no special occasion.” We barely speak our sentences dry and cutting the air so that it would bleed carbon dioxide and I open the milk.
She touches the cake and then she goes back to bed.
“What do you want to do at the wedding?” I ask her as she comes to the kitchen, the same dress maybe she wants a death on Kate as she wear will white and she is the black strangling the lower parts of the dress and Alison presses herself harder, cutting a cereal pack in half. “Look-”
There’s nothing I can do.
“What can I do?” And she shakes the remaining Corn Flakes onto the kitchen rugs and it feels like a road and a pavement with Alison standing, her arms spread out, waiting for a car and flynching until it knocks her out and Jamie would co-
And then I’d take the black fabric just to cover the groom in his grave.
I’d strangle him as he would wait and Alison would rub her hands against the jeans, the sweat too demanding to soak in rather than fall, as she is in a net and everyone knows, what happens once the cake Kate is eaten.
I open all the windows and Alison smokes.
“She’d fucking choke on herself.” Alison mumbles softly, not causing her death, but just showing a maybe one of two dresses more on herself and she’ll twirl like a fairy in a box which Jamie holds and all the fucking keys are his, even if I hold the box tight in my hands.
I stare at her.
I may kiss the box.
But I’ll never reach the fairy, which I may have in my hands.
I can just press my mouth to the keyhole and give her all the air, with her in the dark and without music, not knowing where the oxygen is coming from.
So I feed her grapes in the morning, something she and Jamie used to it.
I move the couch to the kitchen, you can see the sun from there, so she lies there for the next few days.
And the fairy ties my tie on the day of the wedding and the dress is gone but to be back in the evening, maybe I’ll ask Jamie for a key. But he’ll just smile and like vandalizing some wall on the street, he won’t do anything and Alison will just chain smoke with me wondering if I should just take a hammer and bang on the box.
The world will collapse, but the fairy might just get out without music, so I sit to chain smoke with her, as we watch the walks of the devil being held today and we are putting up the decorations as the devil has all the keys, that once either I smoked too much or a joint was passed, I recalled taking Jamie’s wallet out of some other things laying around.
I played the waller against my lips, as I saw all the little photo booth photos of him and Alison, all of them.
The wallet just had one credit card with all the photo booth photos they have ever taken together and that’s where all the weight was and where all the keys go, so after taking a few in my mouth and biting through their happy miserable faces, a few were gone and I was among a pile of some distorted Kills love life.
I think Jamie saw me and just sat besides me.
I didn’t know where Alison was.
But then we both don’t know what happens to an open box if the music and soul is taken away from it.
cover me in varnish from head to toe
She eats a few raspberries and it’s early spring, but she wears that dress, even if it has a black outer layer, I still just see the white, maybe to see some irony with the awaiting wedding we all avoid and how she just wonders around the house, trying to get mascara right for the first time in years and I just watch the girl struggle, sometimes just looking up.
I feed her a raspberry, she opens her mouth to swallow.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask her, washing my hands off the raspberry with her tongue on my finger, I lure it out and her eyes just hold my gaze stronger.
“Nothing.” And her nothing hangs in the air as she washes more raspberries and the whole weight of groceries lately is just raspberries, maybe because it’s the only fruit she doesn’t see at the Hince’s.
“Why raspberry, Alison? Why did you stop the oranges for instance.” I don’t say anything else aloud, but then our conversations are held in silence as if every phrase we say is a Rubik’s cube solution away.
She just raises the hem of the dress a bit, maybe for all the raspberries to fall upon or maybe to trickle upon her feet as if they may be blood sometime soon or maybe she’ll hold the wounds until the wedding, but I could see Kate with her fourteen thousand nymphets and all the humans running around that force and myself sitting close to Alison and us just staring ahead, in time, waiting and guessing the flavor of the cake.
I got her cake for the morning, she still had the dress.
“I got you cake.” I say and I slice it.
“It’s not my birthday and there is no special occasion.” We barely speak our sentences dry and cutting the air so that it would bleed carbon dioxide and I open the milk.
She touches the cake and then she goes back to bed.
“What do you want to do at the wedding?” I ask her as she comes to the kitchen, the same dress maybe she wants a death on Kate as she wear will white and she is the black strangling the lower parts of the dress and Alison presses herself harder, cutting a cereal pack in half. “Look-”
There’s nothing I can do.
“What can I do?” And she shakes the remaining Corn Flakes onto the kitchen rugs and it feels like a road and a pavement with Alison standing, her arms spread out, waiting for a car and flynching until it knocks her out and Jamie would co-
And then I’d take the black fabric just to cover the groom in his grave.
I’d strangle him as he would wait and Alison would rub her hands against the jeans, the sweat too demanding to soak in rather than fall, as she is in a net and everyone knows, what happens once the cake Kate is eaten.
I open all the windows and Alison smokes.
“She’d fucking choke on herself.” Alison mumbles softly, not causing her death, but just showing a maybe one of two dresses more on herself and she’ll twirl like a fairy in a box which Jamie holds and all the fucking keys are his, even if I hold the box tight in my hands.
I stare at her.
I may kiss the box.
But I’ll never reach the fairy, which I may have in my hands.
I can just press my mouth to the keyhole and give her all the air, with her in the dark and without music, not knowing where the oxygen is coming from.
So I feed her grapes in the morning, something she and Jamie used to it.
I move the couch to the kitchen, you can see the sun from there, so she lies there for the next few days.
And the fairy ties my tie on the day of the wedding and the dress is gone but to be back in the evening, maybe I’ll ask Jamie for a key. But he’ll just smile and like vandalizing some wall on the street, he won’t do anything and Alison will just chain smoke with me wondering if I should just take a hammer and bang on the box.
The world will collapse, but the fairy might just get out without music, so I sit to chain smoke with her, as we watch the walks of the devil being held today and we are putting up the decorations as the devil has all the keys, that once either I smoked too much or a joint was passed, I recalled taking Jamie’s wallet out of some other things laying around.
I played the waller against my lips, as I saw all the little photo booth photos of him and Alison, all of them.
The wallet just had one credit card with all the photo booth photos they have ever taken together and that’s where all the weight was and where all the keys go, so after taking a few in my mouth and biting through their happy miserable faces, a few were gone and I was among a pile of some distorted Kills love life.
I think Jamie saw me and just sat besides me.
I didn’t know where Alison was.
But then we both don’t know what happens to an open box if the music and soul is taken away from it.
cover me in varnish from head to toe
Friday, 24 February 2012
Touching Yourself
Tear face off my black and white self whose face is all in what looks to be whipped cream but is -
I should say snow instead.
His beard is in snow and the razor is in my hands, as I trace his chin and his eyes are frozen and locked on the razor, the eyes just watching how it swishes the already shaved three times skin but he like a client wants even the skin off, so that the new red beard would be a new beard.
His hands are too white and he holds a new razor in his hand, he trails his hands up my blue suit and we just stare.
It’s a moment of passion and a kiss on cheek, kiss on cheek, kiss on lips. Then he just looks more like a fragnance with no colour just the smell and the sunken eyes looking so plastic and mouth a bit open as if something would slip from inside it, so I hold his shoulders. And there is a passionate kiss on the lips and the man is no longer myself and there is foam back on my face and he just takes my hand so that we’d walk the bathroom corridors with all the women doing their faces. And then they wax the faces off, leaving acne and pores.
All of them look lovely, as long as they can, but I keep my head down, as all of us three just walk past the bathroom into something which would be the living room after all the bathrooms and the women.
The walls and the ceiling is a rug with painting sewn on it with the paint drops rolling into the rug colour and making holes which reach the brick walls. I insert a finger inside to just make the hole bigger and i even press my mouth against it, feeling nervous as I feel myself, the one who is Santa today and apparently the only box of gifts would be his erection.
I see Jamie sit on the carpet, maybe the one on the ceilings and maybe it is cliche to touch yourself in front of an other in the living room, where all things take place and where the screen is the stage and life seems natural, as I unzip my pants.
Did you ever touch yourself for someone?
I lick a bit of Santa’s foam and I kiss him, as Jamie just sits in the couch, clean shaven and I think of all the women in their rows and I think if they could they would open all the doors and their acne would be their eyes to spy on homosexuality between males.
I watch Jamie touch himself and it feels that what if the women in acne would be all the women we know but we tear off the faces off our minds. What if this is just us being in separate rooms touching ourselves until we feel and in the night I just knock on his door and he lets me walk in.
Jamie stands still and he feels much shorter than I am, like a stuffed toy any daughter of mine would hug to bed with. I trace his body with my fingers as he closes his eyes and his forehead is against mine, sweat forming and blood going down along with my hands and head.
I stand on my knees and stroke his cock.
He kicks me on the floor, on the same coloured rug where I am touching myself and we link hands and laugh.
Maybe we’re high or maybe we’re rolling off a hill.
We don’t kiss.
We don’t touch yet.
We just grope each other’s bodies, he plays the notes which pull strings for my erection to grow and mouth to gently rub against an area of skin.
So when the room is a rug and Jamie smokes one of my cigars I touch myself by sticking fingers inside and the foam mixes with my own sweat as somewhere a memory of Jamie’s thrusting hard against myself and my hips aching before he gets us skin to skin level.
A man smaller than me is inside me.
And he can be me, maybe if he gets the right facial hair I once had or guesses the right rifs I did or fucks all the women I once fucked, but then, all of them stripped to their bones are the same.
And when I’m inside him, I light that same cigar and I stick it in his mouth and everytime I thrust the cigar thrusts with all the inhales, inhales, nails sparkling in sweat against the skin, toungues on lips, cock in hand, tugging so hard, penetrating all the chosen space.
It is about spreading the legs and contaminating the generation, which won’t be given despite the pleasure.
If we’re lucky enough we’ll get death.
-
I'm sorry for taking so long, as I've been caught up in everything, so yeah.
It ended up being short but to my point. I was thinking if it were a prequel to Lucky Screams or not, but I have a sequel to this one in mind, so perhaps:)
Tomorrow is Jack White/Alison in a dress/Kitchen
Thank you
<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="" data-blogger-escaped-href="http://graspthesanity.blogspot.com/2012/02/open-box.html">Open Box
I should say snow instead.
His beard is in snow and the razor is in my hands, as I trace his chin and his eyes are frozen and locked on the razor, the eyes just watching how it swishes the already shaved three times skin but he like a client wants even the skin off, so that the new red beard would be a new beard.
His hands are too white and he holds a new razor in his hand, he trails his hands up my blue suit and we just stare.
It’s a moment of passion and a kiss on cheek, kiss on cheek, kiss on lips. Then he just looks more like a fragnance with no colour just the smell and the sunken eyes looking so plastic and mouth a bit open as if something would slip from inside it, so I hold his shoulders. And there is a passionate kiss on the lips and the man is no longer myself and there is foam back on my face and he just takes my hand so that we’d walk the bathroom corridors with all the women doing their faces. And then they wax the faces off, leaving acne and pores.
All of them look lovely, as long as they can, but I keep my head down, as all of us three just walk past the bathroom into something which would be the living room after all the bathrooms and the women.
The walls and the ceiling is a rug with painting sewn on it with the paint drops rolling into the rug colour and making holes which reach the brick walls. I insert a finger inside to just make the hole bigger and i even press my mouth against it, feeling nervous as I feel myself, the one who is Santa today and apparently the only box of gifts would be his erection.
I see Jamie sit on the carpet, maybe the one on the ceilings and maybe it is cliche to touch yourself in front of an other in the living room, where all things take place and where the screen is the stage and life seems natural, as I unzip my pants.
Did you ever touch yourself for someone?
I lick a bit of Santa’s foam and I kiss him, as Jamie just sits in the couch, clean shaven and I think of all the women in their rows and I think if they could they would open all the doors and their acne would be their eyes to spy on homosexuality between males.
I watch Jamie touch himself and it feels that what if the women in acne would be all the women we know but we tear off the faces off our minds. What if this is just us being in separate rooms touching ourselves until we feel and in the night I just knock on his door and he lets me walk in.
Jamie stands still and he feels much shorter than I am, like a stuffed toy any daughter of mine would hug to bed with. I trace his body with my fingers as he closes his eyes and his forehead is against mine, sweat forming and blood going down along with my hands and head.
I stand on my knees and stroke his cock.
He kicks me on the floor, on the same coloured rug where I am touching myself and we link hands and laugh.
Maybe we’re high or maybe we’re rolling off a hill.
We don’t kiss.
We don’t touch yet.
We just grope each other’s bodies, he plays the notes which pull strings for my erection to grow and mouth to gently rub against an area of skin.
So when the room is a rug and Jamie smokes one of my cigars I touch myself by sticking fingers inside and the foam mixes with my own sweat as somewhere a memory of Jamie’s thrusting hard against myself and my hips aching before he gets us skin to skin level.
A man smaller than me is inside me.
And he can be me, maybe if he gets the right facial hair I once had or guesses the right rifs I did or fucks all the women I once fucked, but then, all of them stripped to their bones are the same.
And when I’m inside him, I light that same cigar and I stick it in his mouth and everytime I thrust the cigar thrusts with all the inhales, inhales, nails sparkling in sweat against the skin, toungues on lips, cock in hand, tugging so hard, penetrating all the chosen space.
It is about spreading the legs and contaminating the generation, which won’t be given despite the pleasure.
If we’re lucky enough we’ll get death.
-
I'm sorry for taking so long, as I've been caught up in everything, so yeah.
It ended up being short but to my point. I was thinking if it were a prequel to Lucky Screams or not, but I have a sequel to this one in mind, so perhaps:)
Tomorrow is Jack White/Alison in a dress/Kitchen
Thank you
<3 data-blogger-escaped-a="" data-blogger-escaped-href="http://graspthesanity.blogspot.com/2012/02/open-box.html">Open Box
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