Michael - 23 - New York
I pretend I'm a writer when I'm not pretending I'm a rockstar. Both of these things may or may not take place in front of the bathroom mirror.
You probably have no idea what my posts are about, and that's the way I like it. True art fails to yield to analysis.
Self-indulgent biography, attempt at humor, pseudo-intellectual Nietzsche quote, etc. etc. etc.
I pretend I'm a writer when I'm not pretending I'm a rockstar. Both of these things may or may not take place in front of the bathroom mirror.
You probably have no idea what my posts are about, and that's the way I like it. True art fails to yield to analysis.
Self-indulgent biography, attempt at humor, pseudo-intellectual Nietzsche quote, etc. etc. etc.
Companion v. 3.0: Personifying Pandemonium
Your pristine features scream pretension like silicon valley, yet I can’t help this viral attraction. I’m the moth headed full-speed for a star, quenching a thirst for Ursa Major. You’re scorching my wings, supernova that you are. I want to fill your lungs with bitter, ancient breath. I want our blood to be the same: approaching boiling, steaming up our vessel walls like windshields facing the evening horizon. Let’s soak up the darkness when the sky shuts down, when Armageddon laughs that skepticism right back into our post-apocalyptic faces. We’ll hold hands until the flames fuse them shut and our genes make final contact. When the sun eats us whole we’ll face consumption together, choking as lovers do.
