Sick Dreams

The Sick Dreams

The sick boy awoke to sadness, to the shadow that is his life.
He had been dreaming of scandalous heels, sleek legs, and promising smiles.
Fatal lovers, harems, and love making at the end of days.
Love making as the world burns. Fatal, meaningful, passionate love.
His mouth, like many times before felt parched, dry and disappointing.
Why this apparent sickness?

Perhaps this is his version of "heroine" worship. These fine actresses of death and love.
Perhaps these dreams were once more...pure, more wide eyed.

Lovers laying next to each other with the ease to pass a million years.
Love that gives life, that resurrects...
A fallen hero embraced by his lover, knowing that if they were reversed,
it'd still be the same encircling arms and gushing tears.
Love making till the world burns, until all pain ends.
He had dreamed it, he could see it, he could taste its richness, he could feel his waiting laughter when he is found, he could imagine her shoes laying beside Their proud bed...

He rubbed his forehead, still a victim that marinated in his dreams.
He had changed, the dreams have changed.
Maybe his dreams became sick because he tried to reach out and didn't touch anything? What is he now but a pair of eyes that only sees the promise of life, and can only but smile at other couple's smiles?
His reality has begun to ebb away, now he could only look forward to his dreams, and when he's gone, only these dreams remain for you, dear reader to find.

Superb corpses laying next to each other with arms preserved through a million years. 
Lust that gives life, that kills, then still animate the corpse with infinite twitches...
A fallen whore doomed to die, but knowing that her death will enchant all watchers from father to son to all other women that believed themselves to be beautiful.
Passionate fuck till the world burns, until all pain ends. Till both fries and only their love stains remain.

He had dreamed it, he could see it, he could taste its richness, he could feel his waiting laughter...

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