Tuesday, August 25, 2009

U.S Gov Clusterfuck.

I wonder if he's actually insecure. I wonder how hard he stares at the door, waiting for her to open it, somehow, maybe, perhaps. I wonder if he ever sees me beyond my pictures and my words, if he has any idea that there's a fleck on my otherwise porcelain skin. There was much speculation, earlier, about having to own up to your actions. Many bad dreams ensued, a deformed Romeo and autumn that would always stay. I suppose he observes her angular bed movements, his blood getting warmer and warmer under his very thick skin. He glances at her sideways, never head-on, he is careful and scared of what these angular moments mean. (Politics of emotions is an intelligent game he plays). I also suppose he makes her shape out of thin air and chases the dust she leaves behind. I feel sorry for himher (more him than her, really).



Then The End Happens.