Cool Womens Hairstyles Pictures

Lunar twins shine and glisten in the heavy night air.  One sits on its throne in the indigo wrap, noble and imperious on the great cosmic map.  The other lurks lows and leers at me, elusive and mysterious, shifting with silent schemes.  On high a witness, ready to disown and decry.  Below, the accessory, in deeds complicit and in morals awry.  I dip down into the lake, through weathered reeds and wade through mud toward my shimmering confidante.   

Her body is blue and bloodless.  Swollen and bloated, ready to be infested, ready to rot.  My mind keeps asking about guilt, and why it ain't registering none.  So many fictitious folks are wracked by guilt, haunted by nightmares.  I'm feeling pragmatic.  There was little I could do, she was obsessed.  Those ideas she'd got, she just couldn't let go of them.  She couldn't handle reality.  It had to be this way.

Still, hauling her heavy frame from the muddy bank has prompts me to remember fonder terms.  The first time, the same venue and much the same audience.  The crickets called out as soft, sallow light guided me into her.  Our blood boiled and bubbled inside, and the water rocked and thrashed around us.  A hungry kiss and a hissing urge, the panting harmony of urgent union.  We rose to the moon and back down again, exhibitionists to the cosmic voyeur.  Redemption among flesh and bone, bona-fide salvation from the abyss.  Salvation, though not for long.

She said she wanted to float toward the stars, lose herself in the nebulae, drift forever a celestial body.  Ripples drifted out from us, circles of life, messages sent out across the dark expanse.  As I drag her in by her legs, different messages drift outwards.  Splashdown, finally.  She bobs and weaves, still being evasive, slipping from my reach.  I got her now though.  Got her.

Don't leave me.  I'm hurting.

You and me both.

It doesn't have to be like this.

It's over.  You've got to realise that.  I'm sorry.  I've got to go. Jesus.

Sweetheart...

She didn't get it.  Didn't understand.  Her tongue pushed out vitriol past contorted lips, birthing hurt in bloody pools of castigation.  Miscarried thoughts, stillborn words slopped out, all bloody and dripping with failure and blame.

I'm burping here in the cold water.  My reflux brings blood and pills half dissolved.  The rope is secured, a union made before a pair of lunar twins.  You're not rid of me.  Not now, not ever.  Sweetheart.

We'll float, now, babe.  We'll float.