Zoomerang96
ONE love, blood, life
you, my love run your hands through my hair.
isn't my hair smooth and soft? you play with it for hours, and you don't get tired of it.
hour after hour, your fingers running gently across my scalp. separating my hairs in small groupings as your fingers search for new areas to roam.
oh yes...
you look into my eyes
zone out
look into my eyes
touch my face
lick my lips
bite my tongue
you look into my eyes as you tell me my hair is nicer than yours.
as you run your hands over my shirt, you notice a sharp smell, something you're not quite sure should pop up at a time like this.
indeed, i farted.
no, it wasn't loud, but fuck sakes does it stink bad.
you try to ignore it, thinking it was a mistake.
...
no
NO
it's there again
am i doing this on purpose? why am i farting at a time like this? and for the love of ugly children, what did i eat for dinner that causes such a putrid smell?
now, you're no longer comfortable kissing me. you pretend to be interested, but the final straw is pulled after the sound of loud hot hair flows through my pants and marinates the room for a third time.
panicking, you back off and try to find the door to leave my room.
no longer caring about any feelings being hurt, all you can think about is your next breath outside these contaminated walls.
BUT WHERE'S THE DOOR?!?!? everything is dark, and as i lie in bed, i repeat over and over again
"there's no other ending, sunday sun. there's no other ending, sunday sun."
occasionally you look back at me with a horrified look on your face but are clearly too afraid to waste any of your precious breath on muttering curses.
4 minutes later, miraculously you escape.
or so you think
after you get in your car to leave, you can't help but notice the smell has been ensconced in your clothing and in your mouth.
20 years later, the smell remains, and i've stayed the same.
isn't my hair smooth and soft? you play with it for hours, and you don't get tired of it.
hour after hour, your fingers running gently across my scalp. separating my hairs in small groupings as your fingers search for new areas to roam.
oh yes...
you look into my eyes
zone out
look into my eyes
touch my face
lick my lips
bite my tongue
you look into my eyes as you tell me my hair is nicer than yours.
as you run your hands over my shirt, you notice a sharp smell, something you're not quite sure should pop up at a time like this.
indeed, i farted.
no, it wasn't loud, but fuck sakes does it stink bad.
you try to ignore it, thinking it was a mistake.
...
no
NO
it's there again
am i doing this on purpose? why am i farting at a time like this? and for the love of ugly children, what did i eat for dinner that causes such a putrid smell?
now, you're no longer comfortable kissing me. you pretend to be interested, but the final straw is pulled after the sound of loud hot hair flows through my pants and marinates the room for a third time.
panicking, you back off and try to find the door to leave my room.
no longer caring about any feelings being hurt, all you can think about is your next breath outside these contaminated walls.
BUT WHERE'S THE DOOR?!?!? everything is dark, and as i lie in bed, i repeat over and over again
"there's no other ending, sunday sun. there's no other ending, sunday sun."
occasionally you look back at me with a horrified look on your face but are clearly too afraid to waste any of your precious breath on muttering curses.
4 minutes later, miraculously you escape.
or so you think
after you get in your car to leave, you can't help but notice the smell has been ensconced in your clothing and in your mouth.
20 years later, the smell remains, and i've stayed the same.
