Long we cried together in that small room overlooking the ocean. There time seemed to slow between us and yet accelerate around us. Insects were born and died. Stars died and were born again. Our shoulders grew wet with the other’s tears and my chest was damp with his blood.
― MAX NOT FOR MOD (Roberto Spiralli), Sunday, 17 October 2010 03:27 (ten years ago) link
I shot him in the face. CRACK. What a sound. And no one to hear it for miles around. CRACK CRACK. I shot him twice more, just to hear the sound fill the open sky. It was the violent peal of freedom. Out here I could do whatever I wanted.
― Roberto Spiralli, Friday, 13 May 2011 21:01 (nine years ago) link
I leaned close and kissed your cheek. I hadn’t realized until that moment that tears had a smell. Through the reek of the garbage and the traffic and of the city itself, I could discern the scent of those wet lines on your face. They dried and you were gone.
― Roberto Spiralli, Friday, 13 May 2011 21:05 (nine years ago) link
I swear I can feel my physical mass diminishing as blood pours out of my stomach and through my fingers. I laugh. It hurts like hell but I am laughing, and what’s so funny is she beat me to it. A step ahead, for once: the only time it counted.
Once you entered Zizzi, grandly readying each arm to take in dinner, I noticed glum shoulders and locked lips happening everywhere, all reviling you. Each irksome moment grew ever tougher to ingest. Now, goodness me, a righteous role I enter! Devil injurious, now torn wide open, die across your soup!
― once a week is ample, Thursday, 17 November 2011 17:47 (nine years ago) link