Status: Уровень эндорфина в моей крови зашкаливает)))
Joined: February 24, 2013
Last Seen: 6 years
Birthday: January 24
user id: 351263
Location: Russia
Gender: M
I'm Dean and I'm just some very slowly decaying organic matter that really likes Virgil and acid house. I'm studying how to maintain the human mouth.
Cynic + Utopian

Quotes by *exploit*

Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.

And I see Sophia standing there, looking the prettiest that I have ever seen. Her hair is dark and her eyes are too, standing out against the paper of her skin. She is short of perfection, and I can list each and every flaw after hours of complaints. But I can see the veins beneath her eyes, that paint the darkness with violet-blue and hues of grey, and that is fine with me. I can count the marks that stretch across her thighs, and the faded yellow white of a scar or two that sits above the blue rivers beneath her wrist. And that is fine with me. I can count the moles that span her body, which is devoid of freckles, and I can talk to her at night, with harsh light illuminating her furrowed brow. I cannot see her often, but when I do I will happily spend hours listening to her complain about this grey hair and that open pore, because I can then spend hours correcting her, creating a red flame that is known to devour her entire face. And I am fine with that.

No, but my voice cracked and how embarrassing is that? I, a fully grown man, have resorted to acting like a prepubescent boy just looking at your smile, and how the sun is reflected against the sheen of your auburn hair. My palms are slick with sweat and I hope you don't know it but you do, I can tell. Because you look so smug and you keep trying to hold my hand, which I don't understand at all. God, I'm so gross why are you still looking at me. I hate you so much I want to wipe that smug look of your face with my face but not violently, no. Tenderly and lovingly and all those good words. You must know what I'm thinking because you're smart and I'm not. So naturally, you start mocking me in Portuguese and you know I don't even understand Spanish but still, you continue and I'm so confused. Are you asking me to leave? Because I can go if you want me to, I'll understand. And then you're really close and I'm really uncomfortable because I'm pretty sure if I can see your freckles than you can see I have really deep worry lines in my forehead. But now you're a breath away and suddenly you blow into my face, Like I'm a dog, before whispering "eu te amo" and I may be bad at languages but I took a (failed) course in Latin and so I'm pretty sure I know what that means.
The flower is the poetry of reproduction. It is an example of the eternal seductiveness of life.

I stand, abandoned, by the side of the road. My neck prickles with the humid mask of dried sweat, and my feet ache as dust rises in a cloud the colour of butterscotch - thick and heavy, it settles in my eyes. and I do not know if they are watering because of foreign fibres, or if I am crying because you left me.
She's got a face straight out a magazine,
God only knows that you'll never leave her
Hello love, for you I have so many words
But I - I forget where we were

One day you will kiss a someone you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence
the sun blinds my eyes, rips through the fibres with the force of an angry star. it burns into my brain, tears through my perception and scars my memories, drenching them in sunlight - making the past look golden and oh so desirable.

it also dulls my senses, forces the future to forever compete with days that once were and people long gone. i avoid sunny days, and i do not look up.
the days seep into one another, until friday looks just like monday - bleak; bleak and boring and full of absolutely nothing to look forward to. they mingle and merge and if you took a picture of each and everyday all you'd have is a collage of blurred, grey smudge.