Destruction… Deconstruction.. … beautiful chaos (at Norlington studios)
As days aged my January, the streets became colder and the skies became more confused, with a lazy sunlight. I stood in the shuffling trains as they displaced me to the stations my feet and my mind got me off, on.
Everything was okay. I ate, shat, slept and did a little work. The market is dwindling”, proclaimed a merchant from remote town of Punjab, “hardly any sales you see”.
I couldn’t care more. I was here living between the space of my mind and my sole. My soul latched away to some distant land, where there was no coming or going to. Sex was non-existent. The only bridge that made me forget about everything else and made me live like a prototype of human that could displace himself from his society, his world, was gone.
There is this woman I know, she carves my heart, when she’s around. Into little engravings of exchanges my breath makes with every day that passes. Her words, her utterance are the healing. Healing of a being that is anxious, intolerant, berated and tired. She does her best, to devote herself to me. Tears me into pieces of joy when I open my eyes and she’s there, breathing softly next to me. When she’s far, it also rips for my heart to find her again. Fast, like a rabid dog. Maniac, to find his fix of her supple - soft lips on me, on all of me again.
I am writing to her, the mermaid of my paraphillic joy. The dips and rise of the oceans together. Her soft tugs at my core of my being, my soul. It drives me insane until. I reach at her door.
When I am there, its like the passing moments before you reach heaven. Waiting, every second, every second to be welcomed. Inside of her house, inside her. Her blemish of a just-washed skin, just-washed hair. That lays by me, in a mad fashion that fires up my soul. Second by second, day after days, never dying in her soft hands. As they stroke me, my shaft for long hours. Cherished by the wet childlike mouth and the angst of my testicles.
I want her like ive never wanted her before.
Waiting at the doorstep like a kid, coming home.