I guess that wasn't a new girlfriend I nearly whispered and swallowed down the taste of my uncomfortable question with black coffe, looked at him over the breakfast table and smiled carefully.
Paris is burning darling, the opium is running out just like the oil and soon we will all have to face what we've done to this planet we call home and what we've done to our souls. There are no records anymore worth buying. People can't spell and they don't use real words, it's all lol there and wtf here like those letters actualy has some value when put togheter. They slaughter the greatness that used to be the kings english and call it modern so please just pass the juice darling, he said and poured it into his gin.
I lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke over my plate of pancakes and put my hand on his.
And besides, my heart beats for two girls. Thats enough to make it wanna burst with love he ends this bisar discussion with. And I wish I hadn't asked to begin with.
10 comments:
'Paris is burning darling, the opium is running out just like the oil and soon we will all have to face what we've done to this planet we call home and what we've done to our souls.'
This post is so desolate but I love it for that. Lovely descriptions and speech.
x
love love love your writing style. yes...
x
This blog is so inspiring, it's my favourite...
xxx
this is such a beautifully written post and there is a fire here that makes me want to write better things...
xx x
Exquisite as ever, darling.
Thank you for the sweet comment on my blog post.
...I'm glad my comment made you smile:)
Ah, I know what you mean and it's scarier that people actually use OMG and LOL beyond the usage of saving money for texts. Words are so beautiful and this is cheapening them!!!
Yep, I'm going now.
dinner?
The Song remains the Same,
As does the Question
you avoid,
to escape the answer.
Still I wonder~~
Why?~~
You went away?
Why, Why, Why, Why
does the boro haze
waft in my corner,
with the empty seat
you do not want to share.
You're not so fragile
to run so hard.
Its a mousey, yet frail gait
that compliments
your swaying hips.
That silken shift that hangs
as if to drift from
its sun starved
limbs.
Stained with
wine,
dribbled from the corners
of your lips.
Return my phrase,
upon the tip of
your toung.
He is right. We have ruined the planet, our language. What is next?
xo, Sophia
what an amazing writing!
xoxo
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