aosid's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - he has remembered how to quell those rebellious dreams of paradise. he has his instruments arranged around in his pockets: brandy in the right breast, tobacco in the back left, pen front right. he curses the cracks in his foundation that lead him to such mundane refuge. the walls pulse slightly around him, flaunting their presence (his presence within them). he cannot forget as well as he used to. nothing is nearly as good as it could be. he swallows the perceived irrationality. the moon is near full. he prays for another chance at cheap seduction. he settles for the memory of the weekends where the nights made soft sense. he calls himself childish for dreaming of a kiss long past, and it is not an insult. 11:26 p.m. - 2011-11-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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