through feathered pens inked with blood and a scarred soul of overflowing abysmal ideologies; there sits an obscured entity, scribbling metaphors and ironies in a crumpled paper of her chaos, seeking for something out of all nothings.
and here she u...
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[ warning: vulgar themes and profanities. ]
michaelo, lovely little fucked up fate wanted to play spin-the-bottle, and unfortunately, the bottleʼs head stopped on you.
Ț Ř Ü Ț H Ø Ř Ð Å Ř Ę ¿
forsooth, a deceitful mouth like yours who has lived a pathetic life spitting sweet lies would never choose truth as it never existed in your ridiculously fucked up vocabulary.
so with that being said, michaelo, i dare you to unlove me.
OH, MICHAELO, YOU EVER SO FOOLISH LOVER; CAN YOU UNLOVE ME? SWEET, SWEET ANGEL WITH FERVOUR DISPOSITIONS OF BOTH GLORIFYING AND RUPTURING MY TATTERED SOUL.
do you undertake kismetʼs game? if yes, tell me something i didnʼt know:
i. can you open your eyes without my fingertips sparkling little tickles unto your nape as i wake you up from your deepest slumbers in dreamland? perchance, can you live with the fact that i can never give fluttering butterfly kisses no more, nor make you feel those chaotic butterflies wreaking havoc unto your innards?
ii. can you bear to smell the scent of strawberries and cigarettes with a hint of sandalwood without suffering from incandescent flashbacks of the aftereffects of our wrinkled bedsheets? can you ever live without the fuckery of my sweet submissions?
iii. can you drink your daily dose of caffeine and swallow blueberry cheesecakes from your favourite café without reminiscing my laughs reverberating across that establishment as i quirked my brows to tease you of the froth mustaches attached on my lips from my most adored cappuccino?
iv. can you chase circles around the cityscapes and gawk at midnight skies without staring at my galaxy-induced eyes? mayhap, can you ever dance underneath the cloudburst of rain without me waltzing towards your soaked entity?
v. you have killed me slowly with the realities i was too blind to discern. you have made me a forlorn fool for your artificial love substantially constructed of manipulations and delusional notions; i am now laying on my gravestone with my tattered soul whom you psychologically slaughtered until it was wrecked beyond repair.
what an ironic paradox you are, too late to be struck by how much my existence was of a significance after you allowed my desperate hands be relinquished from your pachydermatous ones. and look at how the tables turned with all the cards and aces laid before our eyes to behold; you, feeblemindedly crestfallen and i, psychopathically laughing at your despair.
