When we were five.

Written by

Ceremony tingles. Pre-determined weight. Scales of something and often wrong waiting at the gates. “Come in, darling,” she crooned. “I’m waiting for the taste.” Worried for the consequence of desires I’ve come to sate. Laughing at the breathlessness. Sitting on the fence. Typing all these syllables, I’m tired of your friends. Inebriated honesty. Maybe. Save me from the trends. I’ll leave this sentence to you ’cause the rest won’t mean a thing.

[Soraia’s When We Were Five fell from the grinding gears on the 9th. Three-hundred and ninety seconds for ninety-nine cents.]

Got something to say?