Ad infinitum.

why does the street lamp glow a dimmer shade, each time i stroll past an old memory lurking in the depths of the abyss that commands my every move. the swirling mystery that inhabits my innermost desires that punctuate endless speeches and infinitely vacates space for ubiquitous pictures that mockingly flash before my glistening eyes. the nonchalant gazing through the cold steel grills of the window seem to numb me more than it did, now that i am far more lost in my precociousness; far too blinded by sweet smelling roses every thursday night. the dried petals a reminder of what used to be; luscious silken skin underneath my sense of touch forcing smile after smile; simultaneously, taking my thoughts far from beguile.

why do dry rose petals retain their colour?

it does not really matter. for i am happy they have colour at all, clinging onto dried hopes and decaying memoirs of magnanimity and mellow moaning while my fingers do more than just feed my incessant needs for attention. intent on following subtle shivers to the point of sentient feelings that set of seemingly limitless amounts of sensual salaciousness and amorous aphrodisia, willingly partaken in of course. giving basic thought very little room to administer rational behaviour while i indulge in fondling with concupiscence knowingly as it brings about your hunger for me.

yes i am self-indulgent.

but what does that say about you my lustful lover? vision less only when your needs are being stroked to ecstasy, ruing the sight of me once your voracious libido is satisfied and sleeping. pretentiously holding my hand throughout my ordeal as though purposefully feeding my desire to feed you. the lifelessness of me is only my reflection in your eyes when the look of disgust spreads from your lips to the back of your head as i watch you caress the wind as you walk away from my line of sight.

but those petals do not lose their colour still.

Melancholic mornings, and mournings.

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors.
window sills and floating silences.
music filled ears and teary eyed images.
distant lights and amaranth skies.

melancholic mornings, and mournings.

so tell me you. you who is mocking me by hiding behind stacks of papers. why do you test me as you walk away from me, leaving questions and more questions while i sit here and shiver in the backseat of a car that has a driver who takes my money. but you keep walking to where the white flowers bloom and stand there awhile, as if to force me to contemplate what i would do if you were sitting right beside me with that flower in your hand.


i should not get personal. unfortunately there is you, whose insecurity moulds you into me as you look past my dark brown eyes and see something when there is really nothing. "misfit!" i cry. "maverick," you swoon.

i squint and look around your room filled with images on the wall, worked into an elaborate collage towards an impression of expressions. but hides cigarettes from me in the cupboard beside the bed because those dreadful things i cannot endure. who keeps red coloured dildos because i wear a lot of reds just because the colour accentuates how i must feel inside. bollocks woman. but writes voraciously and vivaciously, and eats words ferociously and fervently. but timidly lets her eyes run about my being and pretentiously fantasises about my skin. "rebel?" i say sarcastically. "revolutionary," she says smoothly.

i cannot stand alone. i lie back and think abou... "don't think about the things you fear. just be glad to be here," she says thoughtfully, studying me.

do not do that you. why read my thoughts. why spoil my mystery. have you not taken enough away from me. why do you like me. why do you know me. do not read me, and then say that i am silent all the time. i found you did i not? why am in your room? because i am silent and you know me just perfectly. it is enough. the enemy of my enemy, is still my enemy. but you, i do not know who you are. do not talk you. but please, look at me more. those eyes, and legs, are my temptations you.. you.. woman.

clenched teeth, and sitting upright on the bed away from you... how dare you reduce me to something whice envies you and crawls after you? how dare you? how dare you... put your hand on my thighs and rest your head upon my skin and kiss the side of my thigh and..

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors..
window sills and floating silences..
music filled ears and teary eyed images..
distant lights and amaranth skies..

melancholic mornings, and mournings...