you are geometry of sharp angles and rough edges. a boy of an unknown end result. unpredictable. you're fueled by spontaneous emotions ( that's what feelings are, ephemeral & fleeting. ) and an unchanging resolve which you carry around like a crown. and i love that so i plan to coax you open, witness all the demons running rampant within your mind and your untamed thoughts and again with the emotions.
but things are getting complicated and you hate that and i can tell because soon your eyes start to linger on me a little longer and you're impossibly getting bolder with your words and– shit's getting complicated. yeah, you & your fucking complications, i thought we agreed that you're a walking paradox but who am i to talk anyway? see, honestly speaking i should be the last person to comment on anyone's state of mind and nitpick at their bad mannerisms cause i'm not a good person.
i haven't been for a long time.
and truthfully speaking, because i'm such an asshole i take pleasure in basking in your ambience ( that is unusually soft ) that reminds me of my young days of devouring the sun's wrath in the summer with my thighs and palms stinging beneath the scorching concrete but that daring part of me lived for it. that daring part of me used to stare into the sun till my eyes turn runny with tears.
and it's kinda funny how even now it seems that i still find myself devouring the sun's ( your ) rays ( emotions ).
— THE ROTTEN APPLE
OF THE BUNCH
a self diagnosis of a bad bitch
(me) written by me aka nora
( THE FIRST ACT. )
'the golden boy who's slowly losing
his shine meets a girl of baby blue hues.'
