Lost Love Lust

An excerpt from the journal of Lust:

You know dear friend, sometimes, I consider myself to be a complex person, perhaps even remotely interesting, and then I remember, well, this is only one part of me. Am I not but so many different types of me? And if so, should it be named hypocritical? Or even slightly diverse? I beg to differ.

Sometimes I can look over my shoulder and through the corner of my eye be sure I am alone. My whole existence seems flawed, and sometimes, most times, I even laugh under my breath at the sheer mania that I create. Plump lips give a sense of sensuality in a women, yes? What about a plump sense of cockiness? What if she knows she can rip your superficial abdomen into beautifully shaped artifacts? Artifacts. Listen to yourself. Fucking artifacts.

He doesn’t call you. He never does. You want him to call, but when he does, you deny every desire.

Every desire.

What is age. Age. A fucking denotation of what we think we understand and comprehend. Timeless expansion, I tell you. Timeless.

Violation. Experimentation. Underestimation.

+++ 4.1.3 Scalpel, 4” duct tape, non-stick.

Years from now, my non-conformity will boggle the minds of lazy fucks all around psychology universities. Of this I’m sure.

The dress on Female #XX08239 was high in fibers and it must be noted that heat provoked elimination is necessary when dealing with high fiber material.

982-524-0999

Simple thoughts lead to simple actions, but when complicated thoughts are needed for simple action, action no longer is simple but therefore complicated. And if simple thoughts are needed for complicated actions, then why aren’t complicated thoughts needed for simple actions?

Buy eggs, Nutella Chocolate Spread, and two gallons of milk.