45

I love you in between the hues of a tungsten and a neon light. Your glow and your smile reminds me of that few brief moments between suicide and the regret that welcomes death in. How I wish to enjoy your beauty forever, conspiring with the moon so the sun might never see its own daylight. For this is a sin and I am drinking every sour drop of it, your ever-giving nectar, you sweet, delicate, china. Then I'll smash you to a million pieces and your fragments will still be enchanting. For all eternity I'll spend collecting every pieces of you and with my dripping blood I'll glue you back, only to smash you once again. And again. My pure porcelain. My Stradivarian symphony. My ambitious eulogy when you beg my sympathy. I don't have any. I am not sorry. Sorry.

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You’re currently reading “45,” an entry on pelangi hitam putih

Published:
Sunday, October 04, 2009
by amerhadiazmi