i can smell a forest fire, the flames are making way into my cavities.
i let what you say envelope my bones.the way you said it, like a dying dancer,
like a god waiting to let it rain, let go of the reigns.the way you said it and i was
in a black room with dying flowers, waiting for something to snap.it was beautiful
and real, like solid grief. maybe it wasnt, maybe it was like a baby without
a heartbeat. maybe you like it that way but how could that be?when i have a house,
i will remember your eyes painting a picture of it back when the touch was tender.

let us buy furniture and burn it, pluck fruits and burn them, let us find birds of prey
and let them feed on our words.let us not fuck. let us not say please like we're
dying of a failing heart.today, while we're still elastic, let us have faith. let us not forget, the
only times we ever truly see each other is when we rip our hearts apart and lay them before
our mind.

( this is about {and from the point of view of} a friend. i hope she's ok)

WHY

do i do this every time? i fall, i embarrass myself, i turn my life a into a huger lump of shit each time but i don't learn. trouble is, i have my fun while i do it. the fun element shouldn't exist, or i'll never stop.somebody do something to the universe to make it recognise my extreme desperation and conspire ALONG with me, and not AGAINST me.

Your name should be Samson.

I was going to write about the other pair of bones, but your name should be Samson.So I'll write about you instead.You are going to be rich and famous. When you look at me next, I'll be better at storing things in. Today you were skipping in a curved path and it was like a tornado in slow motion. You have a lot of potential like the morning sun or a new washing machine.I have stolen from you and it makes me feel poetic and full of pathos. I want to make you realize that a lot of things, like addiction and affection,are somewhat OK.You are a few years worth of solar eclipses strung together outside the history of the galaxy. If you ever come with me to the hill-place, it will just be sad.I want you to learn nothing new about me until its time to say, "I'll slap you!" again.I know what colour mode you are. I know that your shoulder blades shine and i know the back of your hand like the back of my hand.
A part of your being is composed of a huge sack of mutating fireflies.It's a very old jute sack you need to get rid of, and transfer its contents to your ticker.I pretend like i know you because that is enough, so far.
You don't need any more words, you don't care, your dinner isn't going to start tasting any more bland if i stop right now and I'm going to have a very confusing dream about you later in my life, I'm sure of it.Do you know your crown falls like a thick maze of vines over a piece of furniture that's been abandoned in a forest? Who does that? If I had my way, the abandoned piece of furniture would be auctioned. Or brought home with the grime on my sole and the cuts on my arm.
The forest must be deep and full of grief.

If I ever touch your face, I'm going to get a lot more confused.
But you know, your name is quite OK.

pointlass photu post.

 because i wont have random pictures like these on my laptop once i go back to pune, and i do like looking at them sometimes, and they've gone unpublished for quite sometime.