A dream. A romance. A love. In Words.
I think you prefer when the world "together" means not "a million," but just two.
I was one of the insatiables. The ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. When they were still new, still fresh. Before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us. Before they'd been relayed back from row to row, spectator to spectator; until worn out, secondhand, the size of a postage stamp, it returned to the projectionist's cabin. Maybe, too, the screen was really a screen. It screened us... from the world.
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What I Want
It's time ...
I don't wanna be alone anymore.
I've been alone for too long now.
I don't know what I lack of that all of them think they could fool around with me,
and then leave me.
I want something new.
Something that lasts a storm.
That lasts my fucked up self and a fucked up other ...
Otherwise ... stay away from me and I'll die alone.
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