HOT LIFE THESE DAYS

1. 

Eyes, eyes, too many lecherous eyes. Eyes who want to show you your place. Eyes who feed off the skin. Eyes, who are a frog's little pond that never transforms into a prince even if there is too much tongue. All the frogs are ugly as hell, all the princes be damned. Lest there is a geriatric penis who wants to reign but poor he never gets hard enough anymore. 

2.

Those who should have stood by have dead souls. Violence, violence, too much blood. Glass shards everywhere and with a gunshot wound in each skull, there is a montage of a silent, stupid, small, service woman hanging. 

3.

Dark hours thinking of a permanent, anonymous escape that can't help but become a momentary change of a slight emotional withdrawal. Mini battles, paltry victories. Happiness. Loss of identity isn't loss so big that it is rather small. On the hilltop, he shouts, but two, my dear, things twice the size, cowrie shells in twos, are powerful and a smile is cast off in debt. 

4.

Madness becoming pathological because souls are sucked in the sheer pursuit of breakthroughs. Turning my life into sorrow as wide as the ocean, honey, I am glad you are living. Hi there, someday, do tell me how much of you are alive yet?