Over 16,529,638 people are on fubar.
What are you waiting for?
The quickest way to a woman's heart is the knife.
Especially one so categorically infidelic.
All words appearing blue.
All dreams following the same bent.
The warmth of familiar ecclipsed by the strange
the scent stranger.
Of.
I dream foreign raveny temptresses with each fleeting wink.
Forty, ten, twelve, a thousand.
She's been out of my words for so long
but rarely out of my thoughts.
Perhaps my heart if I had one.
Of a lesser reality she whispers into me.
Hollow upon empty.
Empty upon origin.
I'm a lesser man for her being.
Yet these phantoms,
these wraiths of entwined fingers
and glistening sweat.
Of powerful
involuntary
quakes.
I find myself waking
with increasing urgency
a dewey panic
a gasping, grasping mess.
Empty.
Hollow.
Lacking.
Ever the worse
the nights she comes.
