wrwr

I live between cotton candy pink sticky walls, with the windows always shut as I live in the permanent state of a blissful summer and needless to say it is the summer of insects.My glossy courtains of bubblegum plastic have become saturated with the dust of fluorescent moths and radiant butterflies.They come from nowhere,as if they're spawned from these thin pinkish membranes in one orgasmic act of creation.
I can't let the sun come in, for the light sticks to the walls and I find it rather depressing -getting up each morning to rip faded sunbeams,one at a time,then cover the smudgespots with transparent nailpolish.
On the walls I have pictures of men attacked by fireflies and grasshoppers feasting on souls.

www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/04/more_from_eyjafjallajokull.html

She smiled a lot today.She's the girl with many friends,dancing the night away while dreaming she is somehere else.

Owls 2

Let's sin tonight with guilt and glory; we'll start early as there isn't much to do -after all,it sounds better to pretend we are blasee instead of bored. :those afternoons we spent listening to music and watching smoke suspended in mid air.We crumbled the charred matchsticks between the tips of our fingers and used it as warpaint in our dreams. Life was passing us by,as the present,from our point of view, was inssuferable and could only be ailled by procrastination.We stood in awe, contemplating how
Oh the places we'll go to and people we'll meet, the nights we'll loose in meaningful debauchery,the clothes we shall wear-, we the children who pretend to be the first to have discovered life.

We find ourselves old children,grown men with petty names,women perpetually worrying for what just yesterday were laughter lines.Drained and sullen,we gather from time to time to hum the songs we sang at sixteen and gossip the people we loved at twenty three.
We go to the same place and make sure everyone knows,like a badge of courrage.

Owls 1