Supermassive Darkhole. (a.k.a Fuckboy)
Like an holographic surface kissed by thesun, where primary colors dance in a slump rhythm under the sunlight... I can’tread his colors, I can’t tell how many shades he glows over this silver surface. He is hypnotic.
He is my morning shower, the cold first drops over my feet wake me up, suddenly metamorphosed into the warm bath that will make me feel like I am in my nest. I don’t have a choice. I can’t leave without my morning routine.
He’s a dank, stinky weed; like apineapple scented joint mixed with burning grass. A few people may realize that he is hiding themost beautiful purple flower before it blooms. It will barely flourish because hecannot wait, he doesn’t care about itthis Spring. He is my eccentric species thatbrings me an oblivious state of mind. We get high, he needs more… I don’t have it, so he leaves me again.
Sometimes I feel like he is a bad pop song…I’m always fighting against it… afraid that it will stick inside my brain if it gets the chance. He is Justin Bieber inRihanna’s Album, released by Jay Z, and I’m playing it over and over again. Iknow I shouldn’t, but I am always looking for trouble.
… He leavesme in a dark hole when I beg him not to go back to earth.
But Ican still smell his pineapple grass scent, While I wait for him to come rescueme
I canstill dream about his warm skin cuddling on winter nights… because in thisblack hole it is just too cold.
