Wednesday, April 02, 2008

I inhale the remains of my hand-made cigarette.I'm sitting half cross-legged,so my ivory-colored silk camisole creeps up my thighs.My paintings rest all around me,the colors dancing in the lazy afternoon sunlight lingering behing the cotton curtains.I will sit here,waiting courageous and alone.For him.I know that right now,he's tangled helplessly within the clutches of her sheets.But as soon as she comes to,she will break out in angry wit.She will challenge and test and provoke him.Make him hate himself,and just as he's gasping for breath,she will throw him out.And that is when he will come back to me,he will find respite in my petiteness.To lie in the the colors my paintings reflect.I will wait for his moment of weakness,when he wakes up in pieces, I will collect them.And when the next day,week,month rolls around,when she comes back to her senses,remembers her tyranny,when she is bored of all her others,she will call on him.And his heart being chained to her feet will leave me to smoke with my paintings yet again.

But because our lives are joined by one merciless circle,he will come back to me.So I sit here,on this lazy afternoon,waiting courageous and alone.

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