To Caress A Butterfly’s Wings In Flight On A Beautiful Summer’s Day With A Heart Full Of Love

To Caress A Butterfly’s Wings In Flight On A Beautiful Summer’s Day With A Heart Full Of Love To Caress A Butterfly’s Wings In Flight On A Beautiful Summer’s Day With A Heart Full Of Love

Status: Finished

Genre: Humor

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Humor

Summary

I toyed with the idea of how need and greed run parallel to each other. How little it takes for one to become the other. And how it is difficult to clearly define where one becomes the other, on a linear plane. I wrote this from the point of view of Obsession personified, looking on at need and greed in action.

Summary

I toyed with the idea of how need and greed run parallel to each other. How little it takes for one to become the other. And how it is difficult to clearly define where one becomes the other, on a linear plane. I wrote this from the point of view of Obsession personified, looking on at need and greed in action.

Content

Submitted: July 07, 2016

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Content

Submitted: July 07, 2016

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The moment we’re cut out of the womb… the lies begin.

Love.

Kindness.

Happily ever after.

Then, we inevitably scrape our knees.
Pain, licks and smacks its lips as it introduces itself.
That scar upon our knees serves as a precursor of what’s to come.

Liars, selfish cowards and cretins cleverly disguised… All around.
Try as you might, you will not avoid them all.
You can look forward to being touched by many of these vapid souls.

Ernest Hemmingway.
"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."
I much prefer the last sentence of this quote. (My broken places are indestructible, btw).

The Bard asks.
“What rocky heart to water will not wear?”
I answer.
"An eternity of tears will not erode this heart, William. So, please go fuck yourself."

All wounded maidens make my cock hard.
“My heart bleeds,” they sob. (Music to my ears).
It doesn’t take long till my cock makes their pussies and asses bleed.

Funny, how they don’t mind the pain that I inflict.
Perhaps, marks upon young flesh are the natural order of things.
Or, their poor, wounded hearts are in need of a proper fucking.

Come to me with your pain.
I promise not a scintilla of it to steal away.
After all, I am not that cruel.

Don’t believe me? Read again.
I only take what is offered. (I confess to trying to steal their pain).
No matter how I tried, I was unable to pry it from their grip.

Fools.
They fill their hearts with pain, and blame love.
A question I ask of you, if I may?

Who is the author of the musing you just read?


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