nets, with their own opinion, without haste, they do not voice aloud, more often observing the habits of others, sifting. Ridiculous are fears, clogging the planks of the closets of the past, attempts to bury, forgetting that sprouts always break through the rubble of cobblestones, fear of dating, fearing submission, no courage. Grinning, driving into hysterics, only to indicate the boundaries of politeness, it is common for spoiled people to break the boundaries out of boredom. Sometimes, plunging into the circus of gallopers, choosing an angle to capture the successful, participating in the emptiness of the, they select after, swarming, one out of a thousand for external likes. They were brought up by shamelessly irresponsible parental invested greatness, significance, lulled by windy compliments, and then, abandoning one, spreading their paws as much as possible in bewilderment, similar to how after the five-year plan of the higher without a parachute they abandoned with obsolete luggage, unclaimed. Stepping along their own path, whistling with a smile. Immersing themselves in the new, testing hypotheses exclusively in practice, turning off their own clues of smells. Mirroring, mirroring shamelessly, strangers, picked up on the go. Knowingly assuming the imperfection of feelings by years of cultivated touch. Not paying attention to the uncomfortable, brushing aside over time, weighing the aftertaste. Maybe he was not right, she thought she was too exclusive, perhaps there were those who wrote their own. But fears also fetter them. It would be hard together, and we would be beautiful, weighed by adulthood or young at heart inside, not paying attention to passport passports, but we are, as we are. Everyone has their own path, and it is possible that somewhere in a dozen they will cross by chance because of the threads that bind.
Slammed. “How are you? Miss. How about you? How are you? A little warmer? Melted. Sun? Not a cloud? Sport? Pages of books? Girls? Bits? Dance? Do you still meet the sunrises? Fly. Sent. Inconsistency. I recognize it in moments. Attempts to buy for cheap. Fly in. Do you hear?”
Cappuccino
The bar is sublime among others. Devastated by degrees, beaten with bats, as if with veins, beef, tired. Fine porcelain, silver utensils sparkle with sparks. A dozen unwashed cups with the remains of Colombian wine, disorderly. Quarrelling, attempts to guess on the squeezed, fondant traces are violet, pale scarlet, pink, carelessly smeared. caressing the lobes. There are no loud words. Fatigue. Sleepy, early, the vaults are zeroed out. Bar, twilight, tones are muffled. The murmur of the words of the tired has ceased, during the night the vocal voices are squeezed out, touching with drunken lips, the tip of the tongue is exhausted, kisses coral, in the cart exchanging in the absence for other ways. Gossipy. Discussing black holes, twinkling stars, manicure ruined, the price of leather, recommended for plastic, other checks. at the bar for gifts and drinks, pay with mysterious currency: “Sorry”, “I’m sorry”, “I’m not interested”, “We are different”, “That’s how I feel at the moment”. Partings are five minutes long until the next moments of boredom, and only when exhausted, another predatory weave with clothes torn off the sheets with languid sighs. And again thin fingers are intertwined, hanging on the remnants of warmth, giving away the last remnants of second-hand clothes. So occasionally there are similar in perception, comfort in the exchange of cobwebs of words, sarcasm. The copper bell on the door peacefully sniffs, silence penetrates the arteries like poison. No one goes in and out, there is no strength. Heavy, unwieldy bar shops froze, holding softness, balancing with balance, exposing the holes in tights, sleeping grays. Those rare moments – thoughts froze, switchmen exhaled on the tracks, tired of sorting out the chaos of the oncoming swarm of trains. A rare peace inside – they switched to neutral. Twilight, the candles, melted, went out. A mess of bodies, a mess of glasses left behind. Love of loneliness. Unfinished, young, unceremoniously red argues with long-aged, single-malt, seasoned: “I am dear, refined and beautiful, only recently plucked. How can I be equal to you? And the smell, the smell, phew, man. How dare you with me at all?.. Know your place.” Not paying attention, it continues to spread, absorbing, merging into one with the blood flows, ohintoxicating, capturing for a long time, feeling that it has not yet fully saturated the degree. It gives off grains. The bar is tired. The bar requires new energy after sleep. A cup of cappuccino, thrown on the bar, milky-fresh innocence, whole, untouched. Looking around with fright – not so long ago cooked. Is it in it that happiness is hidden? Silence. A pile of bodies without energy is sleeping. A pile of brands, views, a hunger for exquisite entertainment. It’s cooled down. Maybe, among others, someone likes a cold drink? Left alone.
Slammed. “Again, as always, it is difficult. How are you? Sunny? Spring? Chirping birds? And I’m flying again. Young man, bring the bill. Announced. Pore. Laugh. And again I fly in search of myself, long-term comfort. I calculated the previous ones. I asked from the edge at the porthole. The clouds are playing with me. How are you? It happens. I read other people’s made-up stories. I started jogging along. Feet get stuck. The ocean is flirting. Young pink lifts. Fire cares. You are missing. Miss. Fly in. Do you hear?”
Rainy
Rain. Beats. Beats. Beats. Shameless. Vulgar. Narcissistic. Peeps. Laziness, shackled mercilessly, does not let go of the limbs. Envelops. Champagne of yesterday is a fog. Down blankets are crumpled, scattered. Pillows cry with the remains of the lip. Tights are torn in several tears. Sleepy. Tired of meetings with templates. More and more among the services meetings with secretive sociopaths, amusingly disguising themselves with the matter of politeness, especially getting bogged down in the codes of technology. trackers, but in general a dream with buns. Shuddering. Bed. The rain is impudent. Coolness on the body with goosebumps. Spring. Special. It is impossible without the feeling of being in love. Pink petals wither inside.
Rain. Spoiler. He is amused. Bam. Bam. Bam. It thunders, waking up, playing its own. Sometimes one touch is enough to reach the first letters, carried away by the lips from the breath of thoughts inside, and there is a gray abyss. On the screen there are a ton of unanswered, similar, lonely, condemned to loneliness. There is mortal boredom. It’s burned there. Without attractions, languid gray. It spins a whirlpool of similar strategies, twenty-four, no more. Aroma of coffee. In an immense bed with a star. Forgive? What do you mean? Not negotiable. Tougher. Slightly arching the back for the pleasures of oncoming people. Massage with obedient tips. Softness. Woolen. Stupid. Empty cries of devotion.
And the rain. He plays hard. He indulges. Over there. Over there. Over there. There is a knock on the tin of the windowsills. Collected things, instantly resetting connections, a new offer without guarantees, but with sweet texts. Risk. It’s possible. But the potential is exciting smells. Budgets. Unlimited cards. A little warmth. The heart is sizzling in the frying pan, uncomfortable on the flame. There are those who are used to being dissatisfied with attempts, especially when they are unsuccessful, trampling to shreds, mixing the best with dirt, spilling aggression, losing word combinations, and then swallowing the prescribed ones. Funny, spoiled. Filters mask the tin of reality, the sand pours down, counting its own. The effect of a puddle, it is known that you will be all splashed with someone else’s depression, failures, jumps in aggression, but you forget and warm in the spring you lead to the rooms, burning yourself in the silence of the wild jungle, and it is in this one that the archived is launched, and there is a darkness of mold, you smile silently with gratitude to the reciprocal silence. Archiving the funny former. And the rain does not allow you to sleep, rambles, disturbs, calls to breathe fresh.
Slammed. “Difficult, difficult, divide the sentences. Tell a smooth, accessible story. Let them spy on other people’s actions, luxury, entertain wandering readers with sweet content. But it’s up to you. How are you doing? Are you cold? Sun? Wind? Rain by the scruff of the neck? Are you messing around? And I have a vacuum. I catch temporary comfort from loneliness. Holding licks at a distance. Swallow. Until the shift. And you? The dog has been visiting for a long time, the one she wanted. No aggression. Apparently, those who will not survive without warmth are drawn to me. Purposeful, with a blond smell. He meets me wagging. He sees him off sleepily. He pokes his nose into the bag. He smells
