The dream. I am climbing the hill to meet them. The hill gets progressively steeper and harder to climb as I traverse it. They had to help me to the top. The surface area has decreased so much. I am filled with feelings of vertigo and yet something seems so familiar about the whole affair. An escape is imminent.
When I finally arrive the dreams become reality. Something very intoxicating about the whole place. Feeling more alive. He is old and his gums seem so red. He realizes the escape as much as I, perhaps more so. The reality hits suddenly and distinctly like a hornet hidden in a rotten apple core. Yesterday it was an administration of topical cream to relieve the disruption. Things are not so easy now. Disconnected. Melancholy. Lost but not without hope. It's only the first day after all.
I am immediately struck by her appearance. A rugged, natural beauty accentuated by beautifully decorated skin. She is immersed in a sketchbook and perched on a stone bench. Hair so curly and soft with a narcotic smile. I am enthralled. I would drown myself if only I mistook my reflection for hers. I lose focus on the past. The present is all that matters now.
Sitting at a table drinking my coffee. Very strong...inspiring. One is for paranoia. Two is for worry. Three is for nervousness. Who ever knew that I would encounter her again? Perhaps throughout the distance and passage of time she has become a manifestation of my desire. She was a dark muse that is for sure. The only person I blame is myself. I blame only myself for all the nights sprawled on the soft yet distinctly abrasive blue carpeting wishing for one second that I could forget.
"Yes. This is what I want. This is what I have always wanted." I can see the desperation in those eyes, but then I wake to nothing but a bed of empty nostalgia. When is it that I made the realization that they are all part of the same entity? Nothing but a multifaceted succubus to haunt my dreams and leave me cold. None of them take more than they give. Perception is the thing that haunts me. The truth is that I take everything for myself ritualistically perpetuating my hedonistic desire.
The most intense feelings of love and happiness emerge in dreams. The ethereal nature of the switched mode of consciousness is a perfect metaphor for the delicacy of life. What we grasp is nothing more than a manifested concept of what we think we need. Time has no meaning. Two weeks become a lifetime more easily than you would think. Tears are self-indulgent so don't cry for me. I am a saline vampire. I need the fluids within to survive. How can something so sweet taste so salty?
For love or for desire? : "Please. I want you to fuck me."
"How I wish I could. I am incapable of love. It will be easier this way."