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:{:America's:First:Crush:}:
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Date Posted: 23:23:42 01/24/03 Fri
.Light.my.fire.
{:America's:First:Crush:}
.I've.had.this.crush.for.
{.Four.Valentines.}
.My.heart.is.colored.
{.Red.}
.My.crush.is.
{.masculine.making.me.feminine.}
.My.crush's.name.is.
{.Not.Crushing.At.The.Moment.}
In contrast to what she had been doing, she did not pin her tapered auids flat against her matted tresses atop her poll, they remained genially forwards, taking in the male’s cordial actions. His musky aroma was inhaled by her quivering nostrils; she stepped forward with the planned wariness of the virgin maiden clad in pious silver-cream, veiled by a façade of apathy.
I could be a hollowed cadaver; frame stiffened into a satire of verve by rigor mortis and tossed against the sterile trees – their wicked claws curve around me, grasp me, I do not defy. It enmeshes me... Enraptured, i am bowed against the storm, carcass rigid and knees locked. I don’t fit in here, my accent is unrefined my heart is unprocessed my mind is gloomy as my tears… I don’t feel right here, and on days like this I am escorted to comprehend that I be in the right place nowhere. The hush is like the snowstorm, it erects against me, moves beside me and right now oh it might disgusting me I can feel it overpowering me, saccharine silence, and such charming peace, how long would it last how long should it last. She is in no doubt; she unaccompanied can kiss the waters into stirring for her, for me, I scream with my superciliousness that I am supremacy, I am providence, I am judiciousness, I am conquest, I am domination, I am severity, I am incongruity, I am necromancy, I am seclusion, I am sacrilege, I am shattered. I am not virtue, I am not purity… The cold melts all the way through casing into soft tissue and hooked on bone and addicted to brainpower and into eyes shady eyes shattering eyes oh these eyes I scream out to you but you disregard me, why is it?
I am not making myself into a picture of perfection, but I am not that, I speak if I do not like my ‘suitor’, if you will, or I attack, but I do not call myself unplayable, for maybe I would fall for the very male who christened me that, or maybe I will be taken and raped and made into nothing but a wanton harlot, or maybe I will forever be a onyx vagabond dinned by gloaming’s reign. Though who could tell, he's a georgous one that one! just look at that chocolate, muscled figure of the heart! I'm yours.
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