Skipped on dinner to afford seeing Hero again. It hurts my heart to see such things. A physical response, my sunday sweetheart best. I hold my breath and my teeth grow cold. It gets harder to breathe. It is this exactly why I keep on. My mother never told me about this when I was younger, no-one ever has. Blood catching it’s breath, everything the very last image. Clouds of rippling colour falling, pouring onto the floor. Crimson and gold, let it never end. Let this fill my mouth with the taste of everything pure. Sweet torture.
Sure, I’ll whore myself for Art. Take that slick blade with it’s sussuration between my pale ribs to feel that knife edge moment of This Is It. Creation, the dance, forever right this minute. I’m flooded. Sticky sweet caramel alone with you. The thought of it makes me want to bite my fingers. Let me touch it with an uplifted tongue. Anyone can take a pretty picture, it doesn’t matter. There’s thousands of us. I need the beat. The passionate ones. Kill them for me, my soul, I want to touch the heart of it. The vibrancy drying on canvas. I will always love you.
Icons.
Ikons.
from eikenai, to be like, seem.
It’s the closest to orgasm I’ve ever been.