Day of Burning Sun and Winter Lover

The weather irritates my skin. It makes people come out the woodwork showing off their nauseating bodies. They look like bloated corpses, and I am not amused. It’s like being in an oven. Suffocating like burns victims. Sweaty everything as toothache robs me of sleep. I remember the drawings and kissed lips beneath dim lights just before closing time. Holding hands with you so brown eyed and true, the darkness was nothing to be afraid of, it welcomed us with open arms. Winter lovers drunk on the sadness of passing seasons. The landscape changes, as do the people, but memory persists. It is the only constant. The past is here forever, and it’s the only thing we will ever be able to take control of. Sleep with the angels, and come find me where the trees sing my name. Ignoring lung cancer and ovarian tumours, the secrets of the day were boiled beyond all recognition. Fires in fields where we used to walk as children, our younger selves burning as we speak. Hips and tits and teeth and everything in between. Tattoos of limited imagination. Paired off with whoever happens to be around, just because it makes the nights more bearable. Smell yourself, and feed a change. See past reflection, and know the one who looks back at you. It’s in the unbearable hours of the evening when there seems to be no escaping such truths. When all flaws are laid bare, and there’s nothing you can do to erase them. The war of not knowing where you are, of not understanding your own actions. You push the ones you love away, and when they turn their back on you, all you can do is wallow in self pity. Destruction and indifference, dancing hand in hand as the floor crumbles beneath your feet. Young now growing older. Just another face in a deadened sea. Just another body stripped of all its wonder. Hail to the lowly ones, and the illness of life they preach above all else. Hail to the dead kings of nowhere, always crushed by hollow queens scratching their eyes out in terror of what they might set sight upon. In a unison of mirrors, all lovers will meet their makers. In the collision of seers of visions, all words will bring about a change. Do what you know you should, before it’s too late. The sinking sands of time will suck you under. The monsters of humankind, ready to bash your brains in because they know nothing else.

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