Scenario 4

The lackadaisical feeling in my limbs are exaggerated by the cold morning air.....My mind is restless, My tounge is tired ..I dont know how much longer I can keep this facade up, I've become a man of many tale's.....Turning my attention to her, I've also become somewhat of a sleep spectator,from time to time I find myself observing this sleeping beauty,wondering if in a dream she will airout the truth and discover that I am a living lie?...The warmth and smoothness of her legs wrapped around mine is an incredible feeling to welcome a new day. I trace her hips and the small of her back till a soft moan emanates, I exit my lustful mood so that she may rest peacefully. I ponder my moonlit activitie's and have come to the conclusion that a pattern has formed, a nocturnal dispute has occurred once more between MR. Sand man and my preoccupide thoughts of shame and selfloathing. Her shoulders bare and cold to the touch, I cover them quickly to resist anymore lustful yearnings. A wicked man of my nature should be exempt of this luxury, a luxury such as this caring soul lying beside me....Blasphemous thoughts are conjured, of a god with a twisted sense of humor...What could she have done to be cursed this way?...What have I done to be so blessed?...While trying to convince my body to awaken from it's slumber, I prohibit any jarring movements to a slow and stealthy flow as to not to disturb her,I pull my legs out from under the cover's and let them hang over the bed for a moment before setting them down. The cold wood floor and my dry skin make my feet a little slippery,I approach the the glass view with a subtle stroll to see the monotony that we creature's of habit are doomed to endure...The monotony it's self is not a burden but none the less unavoidable...What we choose to except and repeat is however..negotiable....A perfect example awaits me as I look out and find the face of an angel plastered on a perspiring hulk of a woman, down below she struggles to reach her goal, like every morning and get her fix of lung corroding nicotine...The same tedious routine as well as with the stranger on the floor below, who's weeping is commonplace and is becoming more of a haunting, melancholic melody (Depreciating mongrel, Depreciating mongrel) is his mantra that fills my ears...I too have choosen a monotonous desire..My pursuit unfortunately has a cost of irreparable damage if unveiled....My oral deception, My Achilles heel, My down fall...My life ended for using My pleasure giving gift of gab...

 

 

 

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