Random Violence

I danced. Almost like i did in a past life- one out of an indefinite number. And it rained, the kind that never stopped and never really will and would always get me wet despite the [already-watered-down] umbrella i hide myself with.

• When you've allowed sand dunes to blow over your multitudes of theatrical persona, you cannot really expect a mere Angel's breathe to unearth them dancing ghosts of the past.
• Stupid. Especially for someone whose claim is on being otherwise.
• I am still in so much love with the smell of rain...

i. I swear I caught his gaze sweeping across that dull-silver floor and if I could only believe in it hard enough, It was in the MY direction. Mine.
ii. gahd, those eyes. Those cursed eyes. They seem to purge into unknown depths beneath the windings of my damnation and roast my soul to perfection. Perfection, I say. Anything less is of no worth before his radiant energy.
iii. The flutter of his wings drown out everything. Even the thuds of this blood-pumping organ. Even the song of tears on the pavement.
iv. And I love him. I do. For he, he is a threat. To my thinking and to my whole being. He crushes every ounce of pride in this withered body in the palm of his hands and allows for all care to be thrown to the wind. Death itself shan't have any dominion over him. For I love him... but I am not in love with him.
v. He is my return to innocence and I shall again dance only and only for him.