A Collection of Spectacles


my love is spread across the landscape and dolled out to people i respect on a daily basis. it is rationed out in even partitions and, spare a few exceptions, is distributed without care. 

the above bit was written weeks ago. i started this post and then saved it. now, i can’t finish it because i can’t mentally revisit what i was thinking at that particular moment.

well, i can’t explain myself. i tried to keep something as informal as possible and ended up leaving my imprint on the bed. 

i’m displaying a peculiar brand of semi-predictable erraticism. by that, i mean that each bout of happiness or depression is predictable in nature, but the exact timing of each when always goes undetected. since i subconsciously frown upon anger, i try my hardest to suppress it, and thus, it is absent from the equation. the ending of each bout is heavily punctuated by seconds (that sometimes develop into moments, that sometimes evolve into horrible periods) of empty nothingness (the deepest absence of feeling that one can achieve) and is sometimes abruptly interrupted by short bursts of passion.

passion has become the splinter in my side, the constant annoyance that irritates and infects. the nuisance and pain that seems to be lifted only when my dress is removed. 

when i get a notion about a particular person and it’s lustful in nature, strong feelings rise to the surface that infect every thought that passes through my mind until i give in and comply with the side of me that lacks rationality. maybe part of it is the thrill of conquering something new. 

the slightest amount of tension ignites the coolness that i try so hard to maintain and results in a violent eruption of carnal impulses.

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