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So Apropos
Saw death on a sunny snowFor every life, forego the parable. Seek the light, my knees are cold. (Running home, running home) Go find another lover; To bring and- to string along. With all your lies, you're still very lovable. I toured the light, so many foreign roads For Emma, forever ago. |
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about art.
Art is what you can get away with.
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bridget.carine. divinia. jieyang. gabby. michelle. monica. muk. patricia. sara. wendy. PLAYLIST twitter
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Design: doughnutcrazyIcon: morphine_kissed Do credit accordingly if you changed the icon. |
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 I never smoke. It is the line I draw around myself, the boundary that I set to keep myself sane. Never sleep with a stranger. Never post personal cam-whore photos on the internet. Never wear black tights with big Tshirts in Singapore. Never smoke. But the idea of smoking has always been a romantic one. The instantaneous flicker of a flame, the smell of something burning, fingers tugging at something smooth, small and slim. And lips, either red, or cracked, or pale and thin; the brim of sophistication, touching paper with the slightest kiss - Breathing in, you can almost see the swirls of smoke, filling pockets in lungs, then being caught in that momentary stasis - the burning, the tainting of blood - you close your eyes in a second of complete euphoria, satisfaction, nirvana between your teeth - and then the exhale. Plumes of smoke rise to the air, and everything for a second looks murky and dark. Before you take another drag. Of course the reality far undermines the idea, the dream-like realm of books and movies, a minute's action drawn out to ten. Then again, everything looks hot in slow-motion. |