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cheburashkaa
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Name: Margaret
Country: United States
State: New York
Birthday: 3/8/1988
Gender: Female
Interests: hanging out with Crocodil Gena.. we madd tight<3
Occupation: Retired
Message: message me
Member Since:
4/11/2003
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| By the time you ravage me, it'll be winter again. So I sigh and patiently wait for some viel of snow to appear before my eyes. So uncoscioucly I am willing to give myself away to you, to your body. I need you alone in my mind because I am so tired of waiting. My drained figure cannot deceive time. Its not fair the way I long for your kiss and your embrace in the late hours of the evening. And yet I'm always alone, yearning for a fairy tale. Forever yearning. | | |
| Wanna get personal? sweetdrmz
Bring out the sun and kiss the stars goodbye
You know they'll captivate your soul and never let it fly
So love me here among Spring's ripening lies
And bear the fruit of consequence now resting in your eyes
Bring out the tears and see the warmth roll by
My timid, icy fingertips are gently resting on your thigh
Refuse to hear the moaning in your cries
Rebuild you from the blood you left. Rebuild you for the wise
Bring out the black, dry roses that you buy
When fate abandons your weak body and laughs at how you cry
I'm like a pill, so gruesome to your eyes
Can't live without my vitamins concealed by this guise
And I'll bring out to you my open arms
Hug your corpse, expose it to Apollo's baleful harms
I'll never take the time to weep for you
You're gone, so quiet, gullible, you know you killed me too. | | |
| Lazy Sunday mornings. There was never anything special about them. But it was on these lazy Sunday mornings that you always felt like waking up for the first time. Your body gently nudges you out of your trance as you take in your first breath. Your eyes get used to the beams of light piercing at your face through the blinds, too afraid to open them in fear of being devirginized of your imagination of the world around you. You would become sensitive to the fabric enveloping you, feeling the folds and creases press into your skin from all ends, tickling your palms and soles. Then, you begin to recognize the too familiar pattern of your breathing, sensing the air rush in through your nostrils, inflating you. Your memory kicks in and you begin to ponder life’s little questions: who you are, why you have ten fingers, if you have any library books due. Happily, you’d realize you’re still lying on the same mattress you lay down on the night before and that no one dared move you. Some familiar smell or the way the light never seems to hit the far right corner of the bedroom would tell you you’re home. By some reflex, you’d suddenly curl yourself into a ball to escape the harsh reality of paying late fees or reparking the car to the Tuesday side of the street. You would turn your head and realize there was someone sleeping next to you, watching the rising and falling of their chest. Altough they are merely inches away from you, you would realize they are enclosed behind some golden wall of sunlight, impenetratable, untouchable, too devine to be tangible. And all at once, you feel very complete. There is no other place you’d rather be at that moment than lying there, naïve, gullible in the Sunday atmosphere. | | |
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