OCCASIONAL ANGEL (monologue of a dilapidated writer) – project “IT'S PERSONAL”
They told me my writing is a pose.
What the hell they knew…
All my rugged life has been a rugged man's pose.
If any love was pushing through my chest, I killed it with gallons of drinking and myriads of forgettable affairs.
She… She had this sharp mind that effortlessly drew me in a whirlpool of sensations. She had these piercing eyes that use to lure me to desire unthinkable passions. I tried to hide from her sharp words because I never knew if I could survive them. Her presence was so enthralling that I ran as far as I can into the arms of any other woman. And as I was running, I was looking over my shoulder to glance again at her, her eyes, and the smile in her intent stare.
From fear to love her I was ready to pull my teeth out and swallow them than to surrender. After all, I was a tough man. After all, I was not an angel.
But I wasn't tough; I wasn't bad. I hid my heart behind ripped angel's wings.
... ... ...
They told me she hid her heart behind a jeered smile.
Hell! Who knew she loved me…
© 2016 copyright | an ode to… | sophia terra~ziva | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED