Читать книгу She miss you - Lerysol - Страница 8

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 past tasks, any desire requires you to say goodbye to your comfort zone… And how are you? Again, again with intricately intertwined hints, shades, riddles? Aren’t you tired? Maybe it’s easier, easier? Yes, I know, there are thousands of you, so you will turn into dust, losing interest without your own invented rules of games. I still like to climb on the edge of rocky, responsible climbing. I decided to put on a shawl of pride. You know about my actress with pigtails, the hysterical psychopath with bows, the cat with a ponytail. Not that I miss you, but to be clear, do you have me in your plans? Unconscionable. I’m lying, lying, lying, of course, shameless, a fool with a raised nose, well-groomed. Yes, what else to do? I want to get you to me in any way I can. Just for the ends, just the touch of you, dear, eccentric. With rough stubble, with bear hugs, just to dissolve as a girl in the chest! Come, do you hear? Fool. I missed you.”