vapid placidity
it's said that our dreams are just memories on playback, tales unraveled and stitched together again. it's said that we, humans, are of the superior intellect, a collection of undiscovered geniuses. it's said that individuality is cosseted, no desire for the status quo to be the template of life.
so why is it that I can't remember anything but you- the quivering timbre of your laughter in the early dawn, the way you smiled when you heard a dog bark down the road, the way your hand fit seamlessly into mine. so why is it that you made me into some monstrosity of my thoughts- a demon plaguing you with faux idiocy. so why is it that you desired something pre-made, a cookie-cutter relationship, when you were so idiosyncratically beautiful, a bird free of the shackles of society yet unable to fly because they stripped your wings.
maybe because you are the ouroboros of me; indulging in my dreams so you could pollute them and make them become the wasteland of your nightmares.
phoenix heart
her hard body pressed to mine, it's only natural to surrender, for her passion is an untamable fire that champions my soft flesh.
she is human too, though something far more dignified, deified- she is the grandeur of life itself, a beacon that ignites even on the darkest of nights.
we are not we, for she is the ethereal and I am the mundane, except for when she makes me complete.