Mr. Brightside (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} deepascent) wrote,@ 2008-10-29 19:55:00 |
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The Rise of the Amazonia Part IV: Resistance
Smoke, thick dark and full, rises swiftly through the nights air from the burnt mass below. Through a cemetery breeze, whispered on the last light of day, came the final cry. Hydrolics pumped and pushed, squeezing and dispersing, oxygenizing and atomizing, living and dying a passing moment flows from one black and white cell to the next. The thumb strikes downward, panic, complete panic questions the next moments of combustion as the spark travels to the damp wick, dowsed with kerosene. Ignition.
The black matte case of the Zippo does not shine or hint at the dancing devils tail above. Swaying too and frow in the light wind sailing over the tree tops. Fiery delight flickers in her black eyes, moonlike in proportion and deeper than the darkest depths of hell, my flame ignites her cigarette, held gently between two fingers; her flame burns my soul to the core. A quick intake as the cloud of roasted tobacco pours deeply into her lungs. Slowly her eyes close as the intensity of the moment hits her. My hand shakes; the thumb that struck this moment reaches into eternity to the lid, watching her lips fully examine the paper, rolling gently, wrapped around a phalloc symbol of a demented dream. With a flick the lip clamps down hard onto the metal casing, extinguishing all evidence of such a crime so deeply pursued.
Her eyes open again as the moment of monumental rush finishes its physical journey, exiting in a quick shiver from her fingers and toes. Silence condones absence of which this situation contains everything but. Drums beat in a far off jungle expedition as this Amazonian exotic woman stood mere inches away, enjoying a cigarette; intoxicating her body; intoxicating my mind. Thoughts be began to wander from a far off ponder of amazement and wonder in this midnight adventure in a moment of splendor my mind locked forever. Unknown to the both of us, committed to our separate ways, always crossing but never meeting, we stare in silent monologue. The shadows around her face revealing the true mask deep within. A sillhouette of two crossed lovers, not of the starry sky or two houses of feudal fury; two star crossed lovers of the here and locked. Locked in a steadfast embrace of understanding and fear. Her intentions clear as the lucid nights sky bathed in the darkness of man; her hidden mysteries just below the surface, bait cast on a silvery thread, a barbed prong and sinker weigh me down, gasping for the breath to say the last words of every man.
A hazy view of then and now, clouded by the memories of her smoke, exhaled in passion to cloud her fatal joke. It ran the lines of her face, crooked and narrow, with elogence and eloquence. Every beautiful curve an expressive insight into what could never be mine. The glimmer of the stars off her hair, alit with the fiery chaos of distant galaxies, burning deep into my retina, trying to remain fixed and determined to take it all in. Bright skin with jet black hair.
No man can resist, no woman can compare.
The curves of her lips flow gently mimicing her own figure. Every beat of my heart and every pull off her cigarette draw my eyes closer and closer to these plump perfections. Stained red; lipstick; deep crimson of a battlefield fresh on her mind stain the paper still rolling under examination. What came first, women or the intoxication?
The background, unimportantly fades fast and far away. Medling into every scene of every romantic tragedy, there was darkness, she was the light, and I obeserve from the furthest seat, wishing for nothing more than for Juliet to be mine; fighting every other romeo crying out true love, up, up to the balcony above; Juliet waits, and the blood rushes swiftly from her happy dagger, sheathed deep within my soul. The rising sun in the morning West sky, deserted to the right in fear of death and hasty flight when Juliet's brightness proved to be too bright...too bright of a light at the end of every tunnel, ending in a metallic embrace from this maiden of tragedy; from her love.
From smoke to myst her every pull and blow change the world on axis. It is her slave it is her prisoner. The devil skips on her every glance, running his pitch fork into every sense of sensibility; a cupids arrow of true delight, he takes no prisoners, and leaves none alive. His mistress keen for more, craving the blood of man her master obeys her command. The line up from every corner in every city to be drained completely for her very delight. The skys ran red that first bloody night as men from far and wide took flight, to join the flock of following sheep and a shepard with the most clandestine of initiatives. So many people moving, moving in this straight line; I'm getting cold feet from this warm puddle of blood, every sacrifice has smile, hanging under the executioneers hood. This sky of blue is on my mind, it's such a perfect day. Without you it seems a waste of time.
"I don't want to follow death and all of his friends"...
before the lips of the metal lighter clicked against its matte case, with a soul on fire and a heart bleading for more torture from your cruel eyes; I turned and walked away, I just turned and walked away.
Smoke, thick dark and full, rises swiftly through the nights air from the burnt mass below. Through a cemetery breeze, whispered on the last light of day, came the final cry. Hydrolics pumped and pushed, squeezing and dispersing, oxygenizing and atomizing, living and dying a passing moment flows from one black and white cell to the next. The thumb strikes downward, panic, complete panic questions the next moments of combustion as the spark travels to the damp wick, dowsed with kerosene. Ignition.
The black matte case of the Zippo does not shine or hint at the dancing devils tail above. Swaying too and frow in the light wind sailing over the tree tops. Fiery delight flickers in her black eyes, moonlike in proportion and deeper than the darkest depths of hell, my flame ignites her cigarette, held gently between two fingers; her flame burns my soul to the core. A quick intake as the cloud of roasted tobacco pours deeply into her lungs. Slowly her eyes close as the intensity of the moment hits her. My hand shakes; the thumb that struck this moment reaches into eternity to the lid, watching her lips fully examine the paper, rolling gently, wrapped around a phalloc symbol of a demented dream. With a flick the lip clamps down hard onto the metal casing, extinguishing all evidence of such a crime so deeply pursued.
Her eyes open again as the moment of monumental rush finishes its physical journey, exiting in a quick shiver from her fingers and toes. Silence condones absence of which this situation contains everything but. Drums beat in a far off jungle expedition as this Amazonian exotic woman stood mere inches away, enjoying a cigarette; intoxicating her body; intoxicating my mind. Thoughts be began to wander from a far off ponder of amazement and wonder in this midnight adventure in a moment of splendor my mind locked forever. Unknown to the both of us, committed to our separate ways, always crossing but never meeting, we stare in silent monologue. The shadows around her face revealing the true mask deep within. A sillhouette of two crossed lovers, not of the starry sky or two houses of feudal fury; two star crossed lovers of the here and locked. Locked in a steadfast embrace of understanding and fear. Her intentions clear as the lucid nights sky bathed in the darkness of man; her hidden mysteries just below the surface, bait cast on a silvery thread, a barbed prong and sinker weigh me down, gasping for the breath to say the last words of every man.
A hazy view of then and now, clouded by the memories of her smoke, exhaled in passion to cloud her fatal joke. It ran the lines of her face, crooked and narrow, with elogence and eloquence. Every beautiful curve an expressive insight into what could never be mine. The glimmer of the stars off her hair, alit with the fiery chaos of distant galaxies, burning deep into my retina, trying to remain fixed and determined to take it all in. Bright skin with jet black hair.
No man can resist, no woman can compare.
The curves of her lips flow gently mimicing her own figure. Every beat of my heart and every pull off her cigarette draw my eyes closer and closer to these plump perfections. Stained red; lipstick; deep crimson of a battlefield fresh on her mind stain the paper still rolling under examination. What came first, women or the intoxication?
The background, unimportantly fades fast and far away. Medling into every scene of every romantic tragedy, there was darkness, she was the light, and I obeserve from the furthest seat, wishing for nothing more than for Juliet to be mine; fighting every other romeo crying out true love, up, up to the balcony above; Juliet waits, and the blood rushes swiftly from her happy dagger, sheathed deep within my soul. The rising sun in the morning West sky, deserted to the right in fear of death and hasty flight when Juliet's brightness proved to be too bright...too bright of a light at the end of every tunnel, ending in a metallic embrace from this maiden of tragedy; from her love.
From smoke to myst her every pull and blow change the world on axis. It is her slave it is her prisoner. The devil skips on her every glance, running his pitch fork into every sense of sensibility; a cupids arrow of true delight, he takes no prisoners, and leaves none alive. His mistress keen for more, craving the blood of man her master obeys her command. The line up from every corner in every city to be drained completely for her very delight. The skys ran red that first bloody night as men from far and wide took flight, to join the flock of following sheep and a shepard with the most clandestine of initiatives. So many people moving, moving in this straight line; I'm getting cold feet from this warm puddle of blood, every sacrifice has smile, hanging under the executioneers hood. This sky of blue is on my mind, it's such a perfect day. Without you it seems a waste of time.
"I don't want to follow death and all of his friends"...
before the lips of the metal lighter clicked against its matte case, with a soul on fire and a heart bleading for more torture from your cruel eyes; I turned and walked away, I just turned and walked away.
