Will you love me in the winter?
The sweet & sour narcissist next door:
“I swear, mainly to god, only today.
(don’t you dare fingers cross knock on my door asking questions to answers I flush down the toilet and into the landlocked river of doubt you’ll never ever find out, beach)
I love you.
(p.s there is no winter around and about the equator)
By the way, I am also very very very sorry sorry sorry.
(You could see it by my new smoking habits, licking the truth anticlockwise)
Fingers snapping wood, just before the running with the wolves for good.
(But no one was scheduled to feast on me, how weird is nature?)
He:
“Who gets your love?
When I am gone.
Who gets your love?”
Written on the wall:
“Girl, you think I am playing?
I can tell you don’t believe a word I am saying..
Ah, you think I am telling you lies?
Ah…..!”
Demons & angels chatter:
“Getting over you, but it’s not so easy”
She:
“Wanted to tell me back then, but particularly today —
“Sorry I, lied to you, but I am not sorry that I fell deep in love with him, so baby do what you’ve got to do”
We’ll sea, how deep is your love.
She never did.
I am sorry for her.
I must, I persist, I insist not to care.”
Freud shatters toilet mirrors:
“Whoever loves becomes humble.
Those who love have, so to speak, pawned a part of their narcissism.”
Winter whispers:
“Let it pour.
It’s snowing pain.
But only, If you wish to become a man”
My psychologist:
“What you asked for”
(Did I?)
Someone I used to follow:
“A Japanese Kamikaze commented on his way: down to earth— “In order to grow, I must betray your expectations.”
Whispers to my shadow:
“Die-hard volcanic pebbles beach.
I swim and breathe.”
Headline:
“As a lizard brain fan, I am going to keep on playing around.
I deeply apologize dear mathematicians and physicians.”
Unconscious mind:
“People who kill people”
Subconscious mind:
“People who fuck people”
Conscious mind:
“People who love people”
Did I say that? but with a sense of regret:
“Homeless spattering on your high hills/military boots while stuffing not 2 but 4 fingers into the hard-won peanut butter bucket. (on the way to your wedding, in such haste, like a soldier marching closer to death?)
It never seems to run out, these excuses not to kiss you in the middle of things. Things you know.
We invent, like this hole in the ground for us to lay down before it is time to go sleeping.
Will you at least, make some room?
Give me 10, I‘ll do the digging.”
Some dead wise man’s opinion:
“It was a marvelous night,
the sort of night one only experiences when one is young.
The sky was so bright, and there were so many stars that,
gazing upward, one couldn’t help wondering how so many whimsical, wicked people could live under such a sky”
F. Dostoevsky
Someone singing:
“You don’t have to go home.
I just want to be the one.
Here are the lies in loving you.”
Side note:
Is it about love or hate?
Is it about a woman or a man?
Is it about life or death?
Dirty graffiti, central bus station:
It is all blended and colored by the same blood shade.
Sunset says:
I turn to the sun and burn my lips, to speak thunder to clouds my pouring rain eyes.
