Member-only story
Yes She Does
Upper chest smooth skin got me wondering about the ‘have tos’ of sailing down this one-way river to the point where heartbeat stands out through the layers of doubt, do I still love the touch that boils the temperature of my emotion?
What a prominent gaze, almost illegal to hold this empty cup and steer, I know what you know, I am coming for a swim, your eyes, unsafe but promising a thriller I can’t refuse, resist, reduce my aptitude “vers libres” aiming your dangerous depth.
I am not a poet, I am a master of my feelings, that’s why I throw stones every morning to the pond of yesterday’s tears, when the hell did it get so turbulent, a Russian roulette of love and hate, life or death, cigarette after cigarette, loud top-chart music begging, I am picking new cherries, tossing old memories, in order to reforget.
At all, what she meant?
all the possible, probable, feasible slow-pace high-ways I could make up to you, please stop with that charming look, you loved me enough in one year for me to pack it in dozens of World War barrels and to feast until the end of your days my days are running out.
I shouldn’t force a false dot between the days of our lives.
Can’t you see through this broken glass without a fucking-social-pressure-filter? there is nothing absolutely nothing to wait for to hope for to wish for but today’s irresponsible mixed-martial-cuddle-laughter.
I swear, it’s the last time:
I surrender.
