thief tattoos

thief tattoos

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  • Sensations

    This is a song of other species played on instruments of destruction.
    A string of the most abysmal errors, we have created a composition now independent in itself. There is a decadence to its violent chaos – its collapse. It has become us.

    Unlocking sensations through flesh.

    Pressed.

    Our thermometer rises through infinite acceleration.

    Temptation.

    Each time, it breaks.
    Our hearts. Pulse
    Legs. Entwine.
    And lips. Kiss.

    We are mad like the night.

    This edifice enfolding us with its shadow of annihilation will lead us down into the irresistible dark. Searching for bodies. They come and they go, dissolving with the dawn.

    Flagrant coordinates, you and I.

    Withdraw.

  • Affections

    I will deny this ever happened.

    Moving past this, I cannot get out of what I got into with you. These affections, foreign or more likely forgotten. Unknown. They are problematic. Modifications incurred by accelerated hearts. Aware of our appetite, we collide.

    Our bodies entangled in this intricate web, this bed. Like wildfire, immersed in each others delicate curves. The rhythmic motion of my hands against your hips persuaded by taste and touch. A composition of impulses. Uninhibited. Repression yielding to sensation. For pleasure and pain are desires that cannot be checked.

    We consume.

    We come together and fall apart, merely to fulfill an innate human need. Laying in each others arms, complacent, we realize this ecstasy is ephemeral. Leaving the safety of these linens will only give way to isolation from one another. Our viscera dictates we are two very prideful people.

    So we bury this. It’s what I like best.

    To move away. And refuse.

    What is between you and I.

    These affections. Fictions.

    Fashioned arbitrarily at will.

     

     

    ———————

    Don’t ask.


  • Viva Hate

    Ridiculous Customer Encounter: Number One (the be all and end all)

    So, I work in a retail music store selling tangible media to the few nostalgic enthusiasts that refuse to accept the doomed fate of the music industry as it struggles to stay afloat in the abyss that is the interweb.

    On rotation: Stone Roses, The Smiths, some Motown Collection, and The Beatles

    Customer: (wearing a look of bewilderment on his face)

    “So, who is this band playing with Morrissey?”

    Me: (restraining all muscle reflexes)

    “THE SMITHS.”

    Mass internal hate for society ensues

    Here’s to you kid, and the bleak urban England of years long past…

    [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6YHpAgxcNY]