piscespixies

dusted paperbacks of fictional reality that blurred the lines of realistic romance a collection of old 80s films sorted alphabetically silly thinking of a boy putting up a boombox over his head playing my favourite song outside to convey his infatuation with screaming verses of young love aggravating the bitter skeptics who snide to the gesture circling around the record discs of sad British pop music thinking love comes in drumbeats and fast-paced guitar riffs the sound that exudes technicolour of make believe hoping someone would take me out tonight and if we die, at least we die...

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i have not come into terms with my body i look in the mirror in 180 pinching the excess of skin that i despise the itching sensation of remorse it besets my psyche forcing me to run miles and miles i run further till my knees give in till my lungs burn till the numbness comforts me i stretch my arms up high my ribs caress the skin they look like they are about to come out of my body like the ghost from a movie that crawls out of the tv my knees are bruised but i...

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