thoughts at the bustop 8:36am:
To the serenaded lover who is like a crystal butterfly in a nutshell:
I searched for his picture today at work, I couldn’t help myself. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking about you when I touch myself…it drives me up the wall. And to think I’ll never see you makes me hornier because your memory belongs to me, to us. Your photographs enthral me because they capture your essence as I see it. However, there’s only one, two maybe three that I have at all. The ones you sent me don’t do you justice at all…but I know you’re posing and it hides you true scent from my soul- your soul straight to mine- I bet I could sense you one hundred miles away. My tummy would get a thousand butterflies in the scent of your eyelined contour. I still see your shadow in the moonlight like when you stood side by side to the moon in the master bedroom. If only you could see yourself through my eyes- maybe you wouldn’t be so depressed. I stop myself from contacting you because it might kill me eventually. I know it feels as though meeting you would be like being eaten by one of those huge snakes- slowly dissolved by your stomach acids as I digest inside you mercilessly- and I would probably do it …because, underneath it all- I still love you.
Your strawberry eyes
Merciless
…
Nobody knows you and it kills you
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