Remember what I said last post about a boyfriend and about not believing it and about enjoying it while it lasted, because it was the only truly interesting thing that had happened to me in ages...?

Well, he told me to fuck off because he's falling for another girl. Of course. Someone prettier than me, I suppose, since that'd be like 97% of women...

Anyway, my life goes right back to its old, sempiternal monotone, I'm only glad I didn't expect too much so I didn't fall too hard, but still...

If you'd excuse me, I'm off to carve some crimson art.

Saturday Poem Society's eighth poem (written on the spot):

XLVIII. Moi, le Péché

Sept. 10, 12 :06 AM

A mouth for both favour and ill,

an old taste of hate and sin,

words that turn into ghost limbs

unstoppable external wills.

Staring calmly from above

as the steel dons its red cape,

skin you’d said, you love to kiss

far too many eons ago.

Choosing comfort over control,

eyelids intentionally closed,

lips voluntarily sealed,

The reign dropped from palsied hands.

Never and again both lose their meaning

along with so much else,

such timelessness …this scene,

the fall I was trained to expect.[1]

~¶~

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[1] mais, pour survivre?

You know what to do...(or not to do).