inopportune influx of human actions. Not all the lashes of sarcasm have yet been laid on the mark, the night is still raging with mold, not yet fully saturated with mockery and neglect, the mad flesh asks for torture again and again. Sobs are muffled by autumn howls. How would they get out? Shopping. The delights of Grey Friday. These are dresses of successful faces in a plague boutique. The collection has been updated. Spoiled. It is striking about thebreadth of facial expressions, today everyone is at the promotion, all of the latest plastic ones are a collection of minimalism of harmless botox injections on sale, the leftovers are declared at the price of the previously cosmic one. smile for social rounds. Dolls always like to dress expensively. Emptiness, only the howling of the autumn hungry wind, primordial.
Slammed. “And I’m a star. And you’re hard again. It’s cold. We have a deep night. A spoiler splashes, flirts with me in waves. I miss your kisses. Your lips with a Scottish smell. Your own to the thread for your own quilted soul. Strangers parade nearby, demonstrating cubes, others – opportunities, still others – just unceremonious Neanderthals. True, I miss you. I want sincere tenderness. Tips of your fingers on the neck, I shudder. I drink, it’s easier to meet the sunset for a while alone in a noisy company. for privacy. My boredom is my only devoted friend. I want you. How are you? Come. Do you hear? Come.”
Want to…
It sweeps so painfully, it sweeps so coldly, it sweeps so mercilessly. Snowflakes melt on scarlet cracked ones. Nostrils feel the approaching shadow of action, but it is still calm in the snow-covered forest. The content is dropped daily for Dory fish, updated yesterday, tirelessly hammering with sounds, alternating with pictures from the receivers. Thousands wander in search of their own dog – a devotee, in his teeth with packages. Preferably well-bred, with accomplished prosperity, with care, with responsibility, with night fireworks, obedient. Exposing the sincerity periodically bought at the flea market, into the pool, where, according to rumors, there are selected ones. In a race in similar windows, in a demonstration of top happiness, strained. Casting floats with bait far away, sifting the catch through large cells, releasing small ones to grow, fluttering with fins, at a given level not according to requests. Although demonstrating to others, they evaluate with the prospect of growth, so there is not enough time to put everything on red. Bites happen, short-term nights are saturated with passions, but without implantation, the line breaks, the bamboo does not withstand, there is not enough strength to hold it, age is robbed by slices with wrinkles. Want…
I want Swiss food today at breakfast. I want to be naked, only wrapped in downy ones, with royal monograms. Wander among the deserted floors in snow-white marble, admiring the rock from the paintings of those who look. I want envy, sincere bestial envy of those hungry friends, former, from the recent past. I want white sand with a reed shack from a thousand, serving turquoise, quietly splashing. I want to spend with insane passion, from his endless map of permissiveness, cheating over and over again. I want not to drown myself, but in sparkling gifts, to bask in, paying in return with sparks of gratitude from the pupils. I want to experience not the vulgar aftertaste of owning property, but to plunge all the needles into delight at the moment of admiration, in seconds – writing out, throwing a label – sold. I want to enjoy unconscious from the cellars with mold wines with four figures, dancing my own to the beats of the guests from Ibiza. I want to enter, pass, fly, dissolve the indecently guarded, in absolute meeting only polite, inclined. I want to rule over those in caps, reversing the warlike, subduing thousands to gentle whims. I want not to get bored with admiration, the desire to admire, the expectation of the next miracles, to have daily happiness, endless portions. There are no boundaries in desires, there are no boundaries in desires.
Slammed. “How are you? Do you have someone? Do you remember me? Will you come? Maybe dial? Write? Am I strong? I know that she is a strong girl for someone, for you. I roar like a beluga, howl from the loneliness of the cold at the equator. Miss. I empty the bar periodically. A serf with a board. Occasionally the kite rushes into blue, I fly up to the clouds, write out, play with the old woman, get by. Adrenaline is off the charts. I drink it again, with black, oil, black. I try to escort random ones with torsos out for the night, in the royal snow-white one – with a star. A beach dog nailed down – bony from hunger, silent loyally, fattening, swallowing without chewing. He is silent, peering into his eyes, sitting next to him under the stars, bribing with modesty, quietly, quietly creeping in short steps. I’m getting used to it. I remember us being the same, kicking snobbery. They threw themselves on the remains of the table left behind, remember? Happiness. We danced excitedly, remember? Throw. I’ll snuggle up to the unshaven one. I’ll kiss you. Bad. Bored.”
Snow
Crackles. Cold. Penetrates, cooling through the windows. Icicles make their way through crystals. A dozen duvets do not save. Firewood is thrown, the flame greedily swallows, demanding to throw fatigue in return. I am engaged for eight hours by definition complete stupidity, after which – to the home on the conveyor. Satisfying the hunger in the entertainment of the inhabitants. In fact, a gear in an ancient machine with a status, which does not change anything for the warmth of the ball. In an instant, slightly slowing down the predatory speed, to be replaced, cynically, without tenderness. What am I trying to achieve? Sufficiency? Recognition. A dozen compliments. Palms, palms. Prestigious place on a branch. That’s funny. I rake out a knapsack with candy wrappers in a moment, as soon as I plunge into inspiration. There, a little higher, albeit with grins, but politeness, without sudden movements, without axes, without pushes into the abyss, not because they were brought up, but only for the halo of reputation. Down there, hunger is still being eaten indiscriminately, in batches, maintaining equanimity at the top and creating the comfort of the environment, in oblivion, turning off the sober furiously clapping, smashing their hands into the blood in desire a little closer, closer, sticking out the rough at the first one. The absolute is at a loss, the leaves of the calendar are falling. Crumpled. Paper napkin, stained, waiting for the trash can. The luxury of participating in third-party decorations, only for a vacuum evening before bedtime, other people’s travels, peeping through the lock with a subscription to the series of a bitten apple. Again. Nobody believes it. Motley advice angers with inadequacy. Upset. Dig. I sort it out. I alternate. Having chosen a men’s sport, I am a little upset. I wake up, rummage through the closet of discarded outfits, trying on another mood for the audience, assuming to be met, noticed, marked. Complete your cycle of tasks on mechanics for a handful of candy wrappers on plastic at the end of the next calendar finish. Friends in pain deep after midnight, each with cuts, pride, ghostly grandeur, devastated by loneliness. I don’t want to pull out the sickly, pinched by their own fears. I drink velvet-tart grape wine. Jogging to splashes. I read rarely, more often I throw it away – it doesn’t work, or maybe it’s not enough collected to perceive reviews. I get offended, thinking, I keep something in myself that still shudders warmly. I cry with the blizzard in unison. I open the windows at night for the fresh silence of the twilight. So sometimes I get tired of loneliness. with a shade of unkindness. I smell far-fetched danger everywhere. The scene is disgusting from time to time, I want it without pretense, I just want to be a little girl, upset, whiny, with sobs, with hysterics, with stroking the palm of a man’s hand affectionately, with simultaneous stomping of the foot, letting go of the barbs from the desire for even stronger hugs, breaking out.
Slammed… “My friend, please announce the account. I’m flying to the next one again. Light, without vulgarity. I’m drowning, the showcases with feigned cheerfulness content are still working. She is in demand for compliments and financial support. Yes, champagne and black, also mine. It’s somehow quiet and comfortable inside, but so rarely. I can’t catch their shades, root causes, I forget about the following. Waves catch myself wanting to inject a dose of horse happiness for continuity. It doesn’t work, maybe with time. Silence envelops my feet with fog. Finish lines are visible from
