愛嬌
my lover sits upon tangerine dusts of fire, flames warming his skin as he relishes in the bitter aftertaste of his mahogany elixir intoxicating his brain, his mind, his beauteous yet so fucking dangerous cerebrum no longer thinking right as he fondles the flames with his pulchritudinous fingertips, incapable of feeling n only seeing the mahogany of the elixir is tinting his hand too, a pungent savour of toxicity (just like the chemicals he mixed in his science class earlier) sticking on his taste buds, which fight for the sentiment of oxygen but don't get it. he doesn't move until someone finds him, hand extended out in the air, just lingering with nothing to hold –
the next morning when he recalls his drunken memoirs of the pungent aroma intoxicating his delirious mind, no one believes him except I because I saw him stop it before anyone witnessed it, I saw the everlasting scar on his digit no one else managed to observe, and I saw my lover relish in his drunken despair with iridescently watery eyes,
what happened to you?
