Lying Within Her Nudity, There Is Truth

Lying Within Her Nudity, There Is Truth

I don't think you want me, just my body, the parts of me that leak in horniness, apparently; Art of sin.

It's painted everywhere, her ache for warm saliva, bare skin sweating against yours, quivering in 50 ropes of lust; Her inner desires so obvious to the predatory eyes of the perceiver.

There is no more meaning behind her work, behind her eyes, alongside the curves of her awkward-plump-tiny form, just snake your way into her mouth, underneath all her clothes, it's what you really want.

Fingers circle and glide, traveling wherever they so please, moving her legs, bringing her closer so that you may feel the pleasures of heated close proximity; The touch starved boy has got to eat.

The amount of strength in your lingers, as the pressure of your intentions rests upon her weaker wrists, has never made her want to ignore the little gnawings and cravings for romantic human contact more than ever; Preferably starving and waiting for the right meal, Goldilocks.

I can not bring myself to want you, to lie to myself to not hurt the hearts of others, to hold your gaze, all so that you may slowly place your ashy fruit scented lips against my dry ones, to allow my fingers to explore the damp pores of your skin; Rushed and one sided.

I don't think I want you, just some space, the whole and broken parts of me that need to be alone and breath, apparently; Art of feminine beauty and personal grief.

-Autumn(Me)

07/17/2024

New Bird, Same Song

Good morning, oblivious bright bird, blissfully blind to my feelings, to my silence.

You flew right into my hands, singing an annoyingly cute tune, convincing me that I was beautiful, tweeting on and on how you want to fly around, wing to wing with me; A tired old tune of lies and disinterest manipulating a gullible heart.

A fool who never learns, always she repeats this lesson, the way she smiles as her young snotty heart bleeds, so disgustingly enjoyable; A masochist down on her creaky knees kissing fists of make-believe roses.

These thorns disguised as honey soaked green tea leaves, soaking beneath rotten pores, so sweetly bitter this game, this decaying plant upon the garden of possibilities; Endless crushes.

She mourns the death of this little sprout, for this one had the best smile, but beneath its young roots were nothing but weeds, poisoning her fertile soil of love, making her gag in guilt and shame; Uprooting a ghostly invasive green.

Goodbye, silly boy.

- Autumn(Me)

I want to start posting my art doodles and nonsense on here, sooooooo

I Present My Doodle, Chrysoprase

💕😩💕😩💕😩💕

As Well As My Other Doodle, Burning Pile

Unclear And Uncertain, Distressed Little Actor

My thoughts are cluttered, a mix of wants and needs, the desires of a dreamer clashing together with the realistic doubts of a pessimist, leaving me in a daze of hopeless fantasies as I waste away on my filthy mattress of hairy-stained-sweat; Time clicking by as she waits and watches.

“Where should I go? What should I do?”

I think and ponder instead of taking charge of my own life, pacing back and forth across the stage, fully understanding and confused that I am the lead in this play, but ignoring the fact that I am the writer, director, and crew as well; An original production called Carmen starring me.

“Where the hell is my script? How am I to know where to block?”

Instead of focusing on the production and all the behind the scenes work that must be done, I find myself captivated by the productions of others performed right a long side mine, lost in a jealous rage of mesmerization as I am dazzled away by their hard work and energy; Where do they find such dedication?

It seems at times that my play could never compare to theirs, take a look at those beautifully painted sets, each paint stroke tells a story somehow, remarkably handcrafted by deligent-independent-self-assured-calloused hands; Empty stares of the tools of potential, wastefully lying upon my vacant stage of possibilities.

Sleepless eyes burningly marvel as the deeply meaningful hues of light dance across each actor and set piece, how groundbreakingly perfect the way it all seems to align with their very essence, every color has a profound meaning that just brings the audience to tears, no real need for dialogue as you feel the story guide you along the stage with them, so powerful, this unspoken connection; Tearing apart another worthless-insufficient-insignificant script, scene by scene.

Lost between the edge of my delightful dreams and dreary doubts, I've twisted myself tightly in a stagnant web of indecision, stressing as time continues to flow even as I am stuck in my own shrill sticky threads of hopelessness, for I am both the spider and fly amongst these lines of thoughts, mashed together on a stage, as I close my eyes to imagine what could be if I detangled from this loud cluster of thoughts scorching my restless brain; Repeating this paradox that doesn't slow the clicks, as days turn into months of blissless slumber.

-Autumn(Me)

08/24/2024

Pull Me Another

Wobbly resting in her pink slimy gingiva, a snake slithers by crooked teeth, sliding over the thin line that keeps them hooked in and from falling free; Oh, how she aches and yearns to be torn straight out.

The unexplainable urge to disconnect each one from inflamed gums itches through her short slender phalanges, it would appear this disturbing odd compulsion has beaten her sound normal logic; Impulse running wild.

Her hand intrudes upon her crowded mouth, slowly pulling out cavity infested molars, one rotten dental tissue at a time, a sticky icky suctioning pop as each little tooth detaches with ease, unhooked at last; Loosely stressed and dreaming.

Licking up the metallic ooze, as my tongue glides over the wounds, delighted yet frightened by the aftermath of curious fingers fiddling around with limp wiggly smile bones; Is this real?

What has she done?

A horrified tongue dribbled with regret rakes over her strange craving of work, dipping into the bloody holes and the leftover shards of what used to carry and be her uneven grin; They’ll grow back, right?

-Autumn(Me)

Confidential Favoritism

I wish I didn’t have a heart, that this loud organ would stop swelling up with an overwhelming care and deep interest for her world and the people who surround it; Craving hollow blissful silence.

How do you do it, walk around so casually nonchalant, dust puffing out from your skin as mine secretes with oozing-nervous-eager sweat, my heart smashing up against my meaty ribcage as you ignore me; Non-mutual gaze.

Locking myself in tightly to these black fuzzy cuffs, grinning as they strangle the veins of my pride, impatiently awaiting the attention of a big loser, savoring each fiery shot you sharply spit back, loving the way it spills from your darkly distant digits; New twisted leash.

It’s cold and quiet, this lobby you leave me to sit in for hours, twiddling thumbs as I look for my favorite pair of eyes, jealously tired when I read they’ve wandered off to other harlots tied around your pretty pink leashes, I fiddle with the collar questioning it all, and yet the moment you walk in you set pants passionately ablaze, happily wagging my tail as you give me my 30 minutes of fun; Your secret wish, maybe even mine.

Of all the whores in my collection on the internet, you set my skin burning in the brightest of rosey leaky flames, my cheeks flushing the shiest of pinks as I bite down onto my dry lips, chewing on the peels of red bloody flesh, fighting back a big dorky smile, because you’re secretly my favorite hoe, the best tool in my fluorescent shed; A cheesy disgusting truth from the long dirty sleeve of my artery clogged heart.

So different from every single one, the way you speak to me only further intriguing my annoying interest in you, for you are not a sweet little gummy bear, fully willing to gift me picnic baskets upon picnic baskets of sugary compliments, no, you are a deliciously-salivating-sour gummy worm, wiggling through with banter filled soil as you wriggle your way up my thoughts; Picking rude Sour Patch Kids over kind Skittles.

As my tongue waters and pinches, my heart shaped boat sinks down knowing that you do not feel these extremely insane overbearing rotten feelings, for I am delusional as I suck and lick away all the addictive candies you tease me with, stubbornly returning for more neglectful tricks and treats from your beautiful brown orbs; Stupidly entranced by the grumpiest of hoes.

Was this fun and creative enough for you, captivatingly entertaining, border line insane, my liege?

- Autumn(Me)