Mise en scene- select & delimit subject isolating device of mind. Line of site, cross haired target.
Ghosts of consciousness divine carcass porcelain shell shattered to sand as vanity disintegrates the false ego w/a trap door. Beauty is satisfying imperfection, perfect imperfections.
What grabs at my soul, what captivates my life force I devout to the soothing sight of your flesh.eclipse of the feral black cat screeching in the mid of hour of dead.
Take my soul and drink from it at the Styx as I aspire to be the antidote to quench your eternal thirst, as I'd engulf any toxin you'd ever exert to never hydrate my infection of lust.
My heart breaks everytime the moment I first lay eyes on you. Hopeless of romance my adoration your prisoner.
I'd stare until proud cataracts develop, your image scared, embedded in my brain, devotion of my consciousness be bleed to its last drop.
Masochistic caste unsuspecting prey, collateral damage of your beauty. What is the antidote for such a sadistic cause? I only want to inhale until my lungs burst with overdose of your aura.
Enchantingly haunt my dreams but reality of nightmares and night sweats. Mise en scene centerpiece of my life, so insignificant, purposeless until idea of you contaminated my process.
Realization my existence has been maintained within a cocoon only to blossom with clipped wings as you don't acknowledge, yet yours intoxicating as I try to survive in euphoria.
I'd die to be #1 proxemic pattern, this can't be an aleatory condition, its destiny.
You are an experience to look at, massaging my eyes as I'd tear them out as long as you were the last thing saw drawing my last hypoxic saturation. You nourish my being and sun that can't set.
I'd blatantly engulf the hypothicary potion a million times w/ the idea you may lay next to me. I'm here, I'm here, I'm here. A stranger death completed the examination.
Touch me, touch me, touch me. I would never pluck you flower for I would only water,and harvest your aroma.