Insomnia on the brink of insanity

[Llynn]

I'm all tatters, worn thin grey threads, wound around crooked black twigs.
the wind caresses me, and tears me apart.
My sweety, your stroke is gentleness of the knife, and kiss of razor to my veins, and all hot embraces of Freddy, embroidery of black and blue, fine piece of impressionism - do me in sharp strokes, add more red, discover all the hues of the ruby that I must be hiding inside the white wardrobe...
I dance to your music, to the beat of your strokes - the sweetest dance of shivers and trembles, twists and winces. Contemporary contraction you are bound to call the style.
I dance to the will of your fingers, and sing shrieks and yelps to balm your heart in pandemonium

@темы: Із зошита, що потрапив у зливу, МАГІЧНИЙ ТЕАТР ТІЛЬКИ ДЛЯ БОЖЕВІЛЬНИХ, архив

Comments

[Slider88]

An old Coyote sits on the mountain, and thinks that he can never understand thouse strange creatures, that call themselves "humans"

[Llynn]

1. Sorry. I mixed it up with another post.
2. "Humans" can never be understood. but making an effort is a challenge.
3. hope the language was good enough.

[Slider88]

Most humans doesn't worth of making an effort.

[Llynn]

Seems so.
Anyway, an effort itself may worth doing.
Kinda mind exercising?