Icarus's blog: "Hurts to watch."

I'm pretty sure I don't have a spine after that one.
Exhilirating crescendo leading to the downfall of odors and slippery left over tactile sensations.
Spit mostly.
Its starting to cool and dry everywhere.
Like an agitated frilled lizard was stuck in this room.
I recognize these smells.
Desperation. Festering dissilusion.
Failure.
But one thing is consistent
an aftertone of the aftermath is always a lightness behind the eyes.
A brief euphoria that transcends all the noise
slaps, slops pulled muscles and chaffing.
I rather like the first parts.
Such building enthusiasm
such a soup of chemistry and biology
adulation, rhythm and perhaps erroneous acceptance.
Too bad it has to end there.
In a matter of minutes
she'll say something disgusting
and remind me that she's here for more than that.
Not exactly what I had bargained for.
Not exactly what I had in mind.
Then comes the theatrics.
The hurled insults
the hurled dishware
the hurled threats and vague attempts at conversation.
I could do without.
Get your shit and go.
Leave me in a heap of dirty clothes and soiled linens.
I still have your number.
I still have no other need for you.