Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 6

Autumn. Stupid. Rainy. Upset. Unbalanced by outbursts. Sounds of a harsh howling, northern. Slushy with minus tears. Softening for a moment, then gray again into despondency. More painful. Cold blows inside. Hurts even less externally. Hunger of the target in the prior. Suggests a refined response to the possible. Goals are outlined. Paths are outlined with rough strokes. Fogs of interpretations. Sublime invincibility, although history says otherwise, some four hundred moments ago. desires for greatness, rediscovering dusty chronicles, history is ruthless, erasing the feigned for a thousand years, putting new empires on the map. The desire to elevate prevails in every scepter holder, on both sides. But it is a rarity to find among them one who, by exalting himself, improved the education of his subjects, who smelled of creation. Clanging. Depression makes its way through, devours the mind with stench. Taking into service the next ones with the appearance of cheerful people, with expired certificates of healing. How can you cure something broken? Born in fears, shivering from any sounds that exceed the decibels of a whisper. Glue, tighten the destruction with cables? Slush, dirt, emotions. Generation. Fortress? Just ossified habits. They were brought up from childhood under oppression, a meat grinder under the pressure of leaders. With age, they seek and find idols drowning in the shine of rented gold, similar to those of the past, crushing, grinding. Without them, it is uncomfortable, cravings, boredom without pain and humiliation are unusual, hunger without the absence of dirt. Having found it, they will continue to serve, complaining about their difficult fate and the injustice of their idols. Knocking faceted, on stools starved. And again at dawn, putting on a cheerful face. Thousands of unsuccessful attempts to please others, feigning attention mixed with jokes with nonsense, saturating them with their own truthful lies, bursts of suffering, feeding afterward, swallowing, without chewing, like a hungry animal, self-pity, and then again hunting in a pack with predators. Politely neglecting sympathizers, with their 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.”