shakey eyes

I take my fingers and run them down the shape of you, trace cigarette smoke on you, let it seep in you and make your eyes shake from it. This happens only in my mind and I open my own eyes and they focus too slowly; my gaze dips to my groin and I am gripping myself in my palm.

"What are you doing in there."

"Nothing. I'm reading."

I finish myself off and then send a text message back to my mom saying "everything is ok. busy."

She passes me as I walk out of the bathroom. "Were you masturbating."

"No." I lick my fingers as if this was proof that I didn't. She raises her eyebrow at me, just one eyebrow; I watch her do this and I see her eyes and they don't shake under the weight of her beautiful, heavy eyelids. As she shuts the door to the bathroom behind her I see traces of cigarette smoke trailing across and over her arm.

I look in her room while she is in the bathroom, I look at her bed and there is a man in her bed. The room smells ugly, the air in it tastes like my hand did and I know this is because they fucked.

blog as surrogate for xxcx

forcibly ejected
.•º•.
†

"better than the ants crawling all over my laptop"

he loved the autumn. he loved the irony of visitors coming to the mountain and the way they reveled in the colours of slow death, the smell of decay on the wind. nature's death is a masterwork, he liked to say or think. a bird swooped below him. he looked down from the cliff at the people looking at trees and they looked remarkably like ants gathering around a too-large carcass.

seeing the tops of birds seemed indecent, for whatever reason.