Go Bitch, Go.

I think that is why I liked it so much. It’s the rumbling melancholy beat that required the body to pay full attention to the chasm between right and wrong. Deserted and bare.

This will be my monument. This will be a beacon when I’m gone.

It was seven degrees outside when I found myself wondering about the magnitude of what was to happen that night. I detached my heart, soul and body from each other. They were lonesome wanderers down a widening road that lead into a sensual abyss. Make a cast of my body. Pull back out. So that I can see. Let go of how you knew me. Let go of what I used to be. What I used to be.

So when the moment comes, I can say I did it all for love.

Or was it all ‘with’ love. I wasn’t sure if I was doing anything for love. Love didn’t matter here. As humans we crave the moment we can grip and turn after waiting for the green light, we desire the moment our piping hot food is presented in our lap after what felt like a myrid minutes of waiting, and we sanctify the very essence of patience manifesting in the present though we battle the nature of composure.

I had waited. I was ready. Anything he gave I would take because I had jumped head first into that rose washed abyss.

We soil dreams for the sake of a moment. Why I wondered?





Go, bitch, go.

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