Bus and Princess,
two words that surely do not belong in the same sentence,
yet, today the absurdity of my reality
coalesced,
hitting home again,
with those very words,
clearly heard,
leading me to despair,
and introspection.
… Am I beyond repair?
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
“Merd-iterranean!” I repeated, fawning.
“Oh, Mozart, you’re so witty!”
I shivered as he slid his hand up my leg, indecently probing my nether regions, groping, squeezing.
I simpered, obsequious.
… How could I say no to the genius?
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
The villagers were happy,
today was a respite
after last night’s storm.
A chance to repair
the damage and destruction
wrought by the howling winds.
What fortune (!),
today the Sun even shines,
indeed moods rise,
as they prepare to batten down the hatches
for, tomorrow or the next day,
another storm cometh.
…
Commendable, stupid people,
they are functional.
… I am but a philosopher,
a futility phobic,
screaming myself to sleep:
“Let me off this fucking boat!”
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Nadezhda, my lifeline,
my hope and dream,
if only,
I had a woman like you
to lie next to each night,
nothing else would matter.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
There you go,
like an annoying Black Bear,
perhaps without malice or care,
instinctively acting,
foraging,
reacting,
as I see it, for no good reason,
committing treason,
in the peaceful forest…
Digging up nuclear waste.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Lies slip from her lips
like water down a mountainside.
Slick rock face.
Summer thunder storm.
Slippery slope
to doom.
…
The glass shatters. Shards pierce my psyche (my soul) like shrapnel from an evilly conceived bomb. I bleed. I despair. Such a thing of beauty, gone wrong, become a thing of hurt and devastation. Such is life – a simple mistake multiplied and complicated.
…
Storm damage. Destruction. Another complication, another disappointment, another frustration, another nail in my coffin. Life fucked. Sigh. Sigh, the bigger picture, you say: “It could’ve been worse.”
Yeah, really, you say that from your house on the hill, with the perfect exterior, interior, furniture, ornamentation and accoutrements of all manner and focus. Your walls are lined with reminders of achievement and pleasure. My walls are smeared with excrement.
I’m sick and tired of: “It could have been worse.”
So, count your blessings, instead.
MOTHERFUCKER!
…
“Wow, you look great!”
“Thanks. From someone who takes their fashion cues from Oz, I’ll take that as a compliment.” She raised an eyebrow and simpered. “You wanna zip me up at the back, honey?”
“Yeah, sure, just as soon as I finish my chocolate. This dark stuff’s awesome, talk about the world of adult entertainment.” He smacked his lips.
“What are you talking about?” She ran her hands down the front of the leather dress, it fit her well, emphasizing her curves, the movement of her hands tripled the effect.
Almost instantly he became hard.
“Like, it’s not too sweet, the chocolate, kinda bitter,” he swallowed hard, “Only adults could appreciate it.”
“Right, I see,” she shook her head, smiled, and motioned to him.
He rose from the bed and moved behind her. Fondling the zipper briefly, he moved his fingers lightly up her exposed back, up and down, he caressed her soft skin. She tensed slightly, almost as if ticklish. He slid his hands under the straps on her shoulders and pushed forwards and down, finding her breasts, he delicately stroked.
And,
And,
And,
… Happy New Year! Happy New Orgasm!
…
It’s all so far from perfection, from what you wanted, from what you imagined when you were an adolescent and thought of the future, how great it would be. Yet, here you are, hating every moment, and it’s impossible to imagine being/living any other way.
