I was at a standstill, unable to differentiate my happiness between dread and my feelings of euphoria for melancholy. My sense of stability had been compromised and the underlying fabric of my reality began to expose years of pulls and tears.
It is nights like these where I want to sleep for days on end. It is nights like these where I give myself up to an alternate authority and let my soul drift away. It is nights like these where I do not want my body, where I want someone else and to be who…
The proverbial bridge had burned, but one question remained: Could we be salvaged? The charred ash of fundamental stability was holding onto the remaining beams that kept us together.
We embrace the world with black tar lungs, and pretend we don’t know any better. If it were not for mistakes, for death, and for heartbreak, who would we be? I don’t know.
He had me, he had me hook line and sinker.
I often think about the man on the moon. Who is he? What did he do? Where does he go to get his coffee? The unanswered questions radiate through my mind penetrating every solitary crevice of my sanity.
Who is Xavier, more so, what is Xavier? Xavier is a supernatural entity that finds a way into even the strongest of minds. Acting upon repressed urges and hidden thoughts, a Xavier finds his way into the heart, and into the boudoir.
The biggest flaw with modern dating is the desire to sell yourself short. Dating in itself is an exhausting and tedious task, one which we all endure until we find a “forever” – or an “until further notice”. The problem with dating is that a sense of incredible judgement is placed on your decision to either a) continue dating the person, or b) decide to never see said person again. We dream about our aspirations and begin planning for the future with self-proclaimed confidence and a blinded understanding.
We had found ourselves in a Pas de Deux, performing our steps side by side, unbothered by the tribulations around us. In another world, maybe we were just like these dancers. Two minds accompanied by two bodies, working together to make art. Met in an open wound, we stitched the protrusion closed.
With every stir, the current beats back against the straw. My still empty stomach growls in protest as my wallet whines in agony. I’d kill for a bloody slice of cheesecake.
When faced with a bullet and a blade, what do you decide? When casualty will be met either way, do we just take the risk?
Salt Water Taffy showcases the direction that I have been wanting to take RW for quite some time, lyrical and imbalanced. I hope that it stirs up the same emotions it brought me while writing. Feel free to like, or share.