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Description
Life is boring most of the times..
All that I want is new moments, a new smell, new eyes, anything really that doesn't bring me back her memories.
For a moment what I really wanted was to jump from the Empire State Building. Maybe then she would remember me. At least a phone call! Nothing...
I went to the balcony and saw the golden reflex of the street lamps on the water below. Golden, just like her hair. I know she liked me, I could see it on her hard nipples, that was not a lie...
I'm surrounded by my personal belongings. The books. The films. The wine. The computer. The tv. The drugs. And that's enough. And not as expensive as a woman. Even independant women have a price. Sometimes even a higher price, for we need to get something their independance can't buy.
Women! Bah! Better my mother. My father never had any complaining to do. He even used to proudly say: "I never had to pay for a house cleaner!" If he had to pay anyone, he would pay a whore that would feed him the sex he didn't have at home. At home sweet home, sex only to get pregant. Then they would pretend a happy marriage at the table.
After my brother died, my mother became deeply depressed. When they discovered the pneumonya it was already too late. The lung. The organ of sadness. I followed her cough that got weeker as it crossed the walls of my room. But she died and I started missing that cough that at least screamed I'm here, I'm alive!
Since my mother died, my father started to take the whores home. I could hear his screams and the screams they would give for his money..
Sometimes he would even invade my room, completly drunk, with a pair of them, asking me to join. And when they see my shyness they would laugh.
Then he would fuck them on the same bed my mother died.
I've only felt pitty of my mother's situation after she died. And then I started to believe that all women were fragile and needed more than just a fuck. Until I met the one who found me sexy with my jeans.
I have a lot of women who call me for dates. I'm not bad looking and I'm still single. But I feel like Orpheus: I dont care for anyone else. I only want my beloved Euridice back. At least if she was trapped in Hell I could go there and rescue her. But she left me, in this circle. A spiral. She must be having her fun. Hell is right here.
Time passes and no news, no calls, no emails, no smells. I pick up a book, "Everything is possible when there's love". That's what happens when we believe in a woman. But it isn't believing in a woman, it's believing in what we feel. It's not the other, it's the other's reflexion. The most narcisistic and selfish feeling. The mirror of happiness. Then the routine. The counted time. I still have the hope of the wait. She said she would call. Can't do anything else except wait. Smoke. Drink. Wait.
Time. It has no size. Like passion, that is proved can only last 2 years. Or 2 minutes. Or 2 seconds.
A body. She doesnt have a soul. Leaving my like that. So suddenly. Din't even wait for the 2 years. Took everything and went. My love. My life. My air. My lung became a pit of sadness. How could I believe she could have loved me? I couldn't be wearing my jeans all the time.
No news. It hasn't been that long really, considering that I have no news from my father for more than 20 years. I wonder if between his orgasms he had time to remember he had a son? Nobody remembers me. If only I had a son. But not even that.
9 months. A pregancy of nothing. And all the times I looked back, I was the one diving into Hell. The Hell of passion. First it comes and leaves your body burning. Then it throws you into the fire. Not all the tears can extinguish that fire. But that's what separates us from the animals. The passion. Animals can only fuck. They can prove that passion only lasts 2 years, but I doubt they can prove that animals fall in love.

Life is so fast.

Description
Life is boring most of the times..
All that I want is new moments, a new smell, new eyes, anything really that doesn't bring me back her memories.
For a moment what I really wanted was to jump from the Empire State Building. Maybe then she would remember me. At least a phone call! Nothing...
I went to the balcony and saw the golden reflex of the street lamps on the water below. Golden, just like her hair. I know she liked me, I could see it on her hard nipples, that was not a lie...
I'm surrounded by my personal belongings. The books. The films. The wine. The computer. The tv. The drugs. And that's enough. And not as expensive as a woman. Even independant women have a price. Sometimes even a higher price, for we need to get something their independance can't buy.
Women! Bah! Better my mother. My father never had any complaining to do. He even used to proudly say: "I never had to pay for a house cleaner!" If he had to pay anyone, he would pay a whore that would feed him the sex he didn't have at home. At home sweet home, sex only to get pregant. Then they would pretend a happy marriage at the table.
After my brother died, my mother became deeply depressed. When they discovered the pneumonya it was already too late. The lung. The organ of sadness. I followed her cough that got weeker as it crossed the walls of my room. But she died and I started missing that cough that at least screamed I'm here, I'm alive!
Since my mother died, my father started to take the whores home. I could hear his screams and the screams they would give for his money..
Sometimes he would even invade my room, completly drunk, with a pair of them, asking me to join. And when they see my shyness they would laugh.
Then he would fuck them on the same bed my mother died.
I've only felt pitty of my mother's situation after she died. And then I started to believe that all women were fragile and needed more than just a fuck. Until I met the one who found me sexy with my jeans.
I have a lot of women who call me for dates. I'm not bad looking and I'm still single. But I feel like Orpheus: I dont care for anyone else. I only want my beloved Euridice back. At least if she was trapped in Hell I could go there and rescue her. But she left me, in this circle. A spiral. She must be having her fun. Hell is right here.
Time passes and no news, no calls, no emails, no smells. I pick up a book, "Everything is possible when there's love". That's what happens when we believe in a woman. But it isn't believing in a woman, it's believing in what we feel. It's not the other, it's the other's reflexion. The most narcisistic and selfish feeling. The mirror of happiness. Then the routine. The counted time. I still have the hope of the wait. She said she would call. Can't do anything else except wait. Smoke. Drink. Wait.
Time. It has no size. Like passion, that is proved can only last 2 years. Or 2 minutes. Or 2 seconds.
A body. She doesnt have a soul. Leaving my like that. So suddenly. Din't even wait for the 2 years. Took everything and went. My love. My life. My air. My lung became a pit of sadness. How could I believe she could have loved me? I couldn't be wearing my jeans all the time.
No news. It hasn't been that long really, considering that I have no news from my father for more than 20 years. I wonder if between his orgasms he had time to remember he had a son? Nobody remembers me. If only I had a son. But not even that.
9 months. A pregancy of nothing. And all the times I looked back, I was the one diving into Hell. The Hell of passion. First it comes and leaves your body burning. Then it throws you into the fire. Not all the tears can extinguish that fire. But that's what separates us from the animals. The passion. Animals can only fuck. They can prove that passion only lasts 2 years, but I doubt they can prove that animals fall in love.

Life is so fast.