She miss you. Lerysol

chat under the stars behind the degrees. We will exchange kisses, slightly touching the tips of our lips. We will dissolve later in vulgarity, merging, digging, biting. Come dear, I miss you. Do you hear?”

      And in the remainder…

      Autumn is fallen, unstable to the temptations of the strong. It takes so long to assemble an internal constructor before filling yourself with enough mistakes, crowns, wounds, blows, ups and downs and plunging into a pit of despondency. And again the strong row, leaving what has cooled, unfastening those who pull back, taking more air into the lungs. In search of their own kind for distance, according to unclouded everyday views, inner content, physical forms, large-scale dreams, readiness to sacrifice for the sake of achievement. For a long time, all actions, words, tears with emotions have been rewritten and described in multi-page books. With an understanding of the stereotyped nature of each traveler encountered on the way, with his own personal path, intersecting for a segment of a moment, someone taking his time sniffing, not letting him get close, someone running into the pool, scooping up the whole palette with cuts, the problems always have several solutions, the choice is different. With the comfort and similarity of the paths, connecting to short ones, following the path to difficult ones of their own, it is successful if together they go out to solve problems, creating projects for projects, and again inevitably disperse, having suffered the energy of everyone, having learned the best or learned to recognize the worst, touching what it is like to be together in a bundle. In fact, most of them remain far away, nothing changes, interest in the physical, and over time, a strong feeling that the diversity of models has been explored has penetrated. Heating is different, maintenance requirements are different – and, accordingly, consumption appears after rust strikes, regardless of the perfection of the shamans. Being unaware of how deeply I penetrate inside. The game always begins politely, with a smile, without vulgarity and hints, simply and humanely, without thoughts of how…

      And what about the remainder? A piece of memory with pictures of eccentricity, thinking about a man’s embrace, in a heap of disordered thoughts, the absence of a book under the pillow.

      And what about the remainder? The other one will remain fiery, having crept in from the pages of Hemingway, wild bright predatory, penetrating like a cat inside, enveloping with sparks, with madness of 0.5, and cynicism smelling of feigned confidence, of ridiculous permissiveness.

      And what about the remainder? She, offering traps with the interests of the night, by her actions in the mishmash awakening only the predatory, silent with fear, silence, inappropriately uttering the superfluous, with a core, manipulating the external, pretending to be different, exclusively for her own pleasures, awakening mortal boredom, with black and gray profiles, with selfish, superficial, stupid interests.

      And what about the remainder? It will remain unusual, special for the market of manufacturers, with an overestimate. Still admiring someone else’s fog of content, someone else’s clang of high-speed mustangs, curtaining the envy hidden under thousands of covers. She has not been trained to protect herself – to protect her with her palms. Once again, missing, not noticed for a fleeting cup. Only the whip and the pedal was pressed, fears and eternal breakdowns, inherited, only aggression turned into something special, from the heat of the flame exquisite forms were acquired. Fading over time, floundering in its own puddle.

      And what about the remainder? That. Fiery, unbridled, snow-white, belligerent, turning into a purring cat in moments, continuing to search for pleasure on the ball, burdened with external fears, crammed inside with sticks.

      And what about the remainder? That. Other. With childhood as an adult, with thoughts spied on, the showcase version is simplified to the maximum, the external shine with scales with charms.

      And what is left? Nothing changes. Drawing from the content offered by recognized writers of the past, they offer to switch the perception of reality with icy glasses of old alcohol. Ridiculously praising certain ones, instilling confidence about behind-the-scenes contracts with manufacturers. The truth beats against the glass, scattering feathers: the hopelessness of the ebb tide, it is not written, there are not enough geysers to start the engines. Not funny, not sad, just silence. The places are favorite, the order for repit is long. The following movements are planned. So the weather outside the huge windows without surprises, offers a sunny salad, adding coolness for taste, weathering. It’s funny, the hired characters, in fact interested in new breakfasters, shamelessly smit, gently hinting at the undesirability of the presence of new ones. To amuse yourself with the circus, offering an awkward character in return, watching the reaction of the chirpers – nothing serious.

      Slammed. “Announced for landing. Waiter, bill. Write, write, heartfelt… When only for me? On the understandable, without… On the IZ, it is impossible without connecting additional processors for comprehension. Moreover, gas with caviar does not allow you to concentrate. Thought. As long as my fish Dory is in my memory. I caught myself scrolling, or maybe I don’t need to think deeply with you, but on the bark the norm comes, something in the moment touches, captures, captivates, burns, laughs, pampers, something incomprehensibly superfluous spills out, if there is a desire – I will come back again, and now on the same wavelength it turns out to surf with you. Amusingly. Yes, a bottle of champagne is also mine, consider it. I’m trying to change the external, to occupy the internal with slightly different thoughts. I’ve chosen a fabulous place for myself, I’m flying in anticipation of magic. I’ve fallen in love with the reviews of my friends, I’m lost, like a little girl, in the Hello Kitty store, among the photos. I’ll digress. Why are you silent? Yes, I’ve been invited. I’ll try to distract myself from you. Yes, I miss you. Yes, it’s not eternal, exchanging physical pampering for candy wrappers, not letting in the superfluous. that I feel your waves in the distance… I touch my lips to the prickly… inhaling the smell of her own body, hiding in her arms, kissing her fingertips. Yes. Simply. I missed you.”

      Mud

      Autumn. Stupid. Rainy. Upset. Unbalanced by outbursts. Sounds of a harsh howling, northern. Slushy with minus tears. Softening for a moment, then gray again into despondency. More painful. Cold blows inside. Hurts even less externally. Hunger of the target in the prior. Suggests a refined response to the possible. Goals are outlined. Paths are outlined with rough strokes. Fogs of interpretations. Sublime invincibility, although history says otherwise, some four hundred moments ago. desires for greatness, rediscovering dusty chronicles, history is ruthless, erasing the feigned for a thousand years, putting new empires on the map. The desire to elevate prevails in every scepter holder, on both sides. But it is a rarity to find among them one who, by exalting himself, improved the education of his subjects, who smelled of creation. Clanging. Depression makes its way through, devours the mind with stench. Taking into service the next ones with the appearance of cheerful people, with expired certificates of healing. How can you cure something broken? Born in fears, shivering from any sounds that exceed the decibels of a whisper. Glue, tighten the destruction with cables? Slush, dirt, emotions. Generation. Fortress? Just ossified habits. They were brought up from childhood under oppression, a meat grinder under the pressure of leaders. With age, they seek and find idols drowning in the shine of rented gold, similar to those of the past, crushing, grinding. Without them, it is uncomfortable, cravings, boredom without pain and humiliation are unusual, hunger without the absence of dirt. Having found it, they will continue to serve, complaining about their difficult fate and the injustice of their idols. Knocking faceted, on stools starved. And again at dawn, putting on a cheerful face. Thousands of unsuccessful attempts to please others, feigning attention mixed with jokes with nonsense, saturating them with their own truthful lies, bursts of suffering, feeding afterward, swallowing, without chewing, like a hungry animal, self-pity, and then again hunting in a pack with predators. Politely neglecting sympathizers, with their inopportune influx of human actions. Not all the lashes of sarcasm have yet been laid on the mark, the night is still raging with mold, not yet fully saturated with mockery and neglect, the mad flesh asks for torture again and again. Sobs are muffled by autumn howls. How would they get out? Shopping. The delights of Grey Friday. These are dresses