Sujo & the KillerbyTom Mandy©
Take emotions served cold on a rusty, continuously scraped plate. Shredded, loathing desires in succession of each other spilling into the flask.
Drunk by me and thee.
Your own ideas backslapped on the edge, quit while you're still not in a semi-coma.
Cowboys and dragonz, prowling and vicious, believe in them and they shall turn sour.
Does ye have no faith? Abso-fucking-lutley.
Brown and black hair shrouds anything but the face- those eyes are speaking entire anthologies in mere seconds, looking straight into mine.
Lessons learned are lessons told to those who do not know. They get let on by the advances of the angel up and to the left.
Don't get let on to the brink. For those who are led to the brink discover before they are approved for the credit card of romance that it is an illusion. They lead like the jackass led to water that won't drink, in reverse. By the time they reach the moment of possession, of small and incredible delight, they are told to start all over again.
Back to the line for all losers, loners, pathetics, creeps, and normals here and there.
What does she see?
She sees a presence behind her that seems to be a vortex of excellence, unsurpassed by the one who was on the un-official waiting list.
The one left behind will try to just slip it away, the usual lot of loss compounded in one overstuffed compartment bin saved for everyday people and activities. The one will, and does try, but swelling still, maybe more so than before, is the wantingness, the cry for the comfort in close, embracing other.
Testosterone is battling with the urge to burst into a tear flood not seen since the winter of 92.
Nothing now is as apparent as is the notion that the protocol of the relationship is more fucked up than the protocol for war.
Now the one can see why there is a fruitful business-prostitution of body over mind. The psychology is there- Freud wouldn't be able to uncover the mask of deceit. He would just give blow to his horse.
It's not just the eyes, the wise man states; take a peek at the mouth and voice. She has a voice that infects any man's being- a caring, youthful and really happy tone carried over her.
She uses that tone to slice, dice, and hit frappe with your only honest patch of un-cynicism. It would make any smurf into a demon.