Missing
Title: Missing
Author: sinderella8 (Natt)
Rating: Free, it doesn't matter anyway, if people want to read it, they will.
Chapter: Standalone
Summary: A Day in David's famous, glorious life. It's more like a poem, and dramatic.
Author's Notes: At first, this wasn't about David, but I figured out it fitted him so much...cuz he's a Diva. lol
Oh, the light. The momentary blindness of the flash, the warm you feel in your cheeks, the perfect whiteness it leaves in your face, as if it was a new make-up that transforms your skin into velvet.
Two, three seconds...the noise is constant, is high and deafening, but all you hear is an echoing moan, and a little low voice in your ear, “you, you, you”.
Your body was sculptured by Gods, better forget the sex hours, your muscles contract to build a king posture, because that’s what you are. A King. Or Queen if you want. The power is in your every single cell, you want to suck it, keep it and cultivate it. To show every inferior someone, because they are smaller, smaller in everything, but they’re more, much more...
Wider, more poor, uglier, more ridiculous, unhappier.
So, the climax is gone and it calms down. But the power still remains in all of your pores. You still breath it.
Blinking heavily, the thick eyeliner layers needs to be removed. They hurt the eyes, but oh, what a wonderful pain.
The temperature is perfect. The only reason you’re not in heaven because heaven would be way too boring and monotonous to someone like you. There ain’t no nights like this at heaven. You wouldn’t be a star over there.
Hell wouldn’t beat it too. Because even though the inequaled drinks and sins, nothing compares to what you can buy.
Everything still shines. Your neck is still hard, your mouth tastes like ego, nothing else. Your sweet ego is protected by your self-steem, built by other people’s words. Or his words.
You never helped with it, why would you mind? You have people to do it for you.
So let’s sit and watch my glory being worshiped.
After two very quick hours, your body is burning. Of pleasure, of course. All the pain is pleasant.
You get up, in your golden heels, but you can call them Prada .
Your fingers don’t hurt anymore and all you feel is the pleasure of the soft divine carpet.
You turn your face and dissipate the white smile to receive the deafening, devilish and murderer round of applause in your ears. A moan of pleasure. A shot was never so pleasant.
Some Don Perignons in your crystal glass, some sips with your forced sexuality, some fake laughs and some faces sculptured by angels after, you’re not tired yet.
Beauty never made you tired. But now you’re ready to leave, because etiquette told you to.
You arrive home, still with vestiges of fun. But everything fades away, slowly...
Weaker, weaker, dark. Everything’s gone. The smells, textures, tastes, shapes. Where is my power? You know it’s not over yet. There’s a whole world out there with opened arms to you. But not inside these walls.
And you touch every part of your skin. Every inch of your glory. And still remember every hand that passed through this body. Every person that touched this sin. You smile.
And then, you smile. Then you laugh, then you laugh out loud. Reminding of every thing you’ve ever given to the others. And when everything seems complete and perfect, in a natural circle, you miss something.
The beautiful titled in black eyes wide up, creating a beautiful esphere. They fill up with worry. You run towards the vault and you know you could buy it all again, but you have the control. You haven’t lost anything. Not even what you can touch, not even what your hands can’t feel. Everything was there.
I take then my beautiful diamond watch, given to me by someone wich fame was bigger than mine.
I light up a narrow cigarette, and the fire back on my tongue just isn’t more pleasant then the smoke in my lungs.
I suck it with all of my strenght, and let it go very slowly. So then, with my naked image in the mirror, my soft skin, wet eyes, nicotine burning my fingers, dry throat, sparkling teeth, I ask myself: "Where is my heart?"
Sorry guys if it's too confusing, but it's kinda of a story. If someone didn't get it, ask me and I'll explain.
Author: sinderella8 (Natt)
Rating: Free, it doesn't matter anyway, if people want to read it, they will.
Chapter: Standalone
Summary: A Day in David's famous, glorious life. It's more like a poem, and dramatic.
Author's Notes: At first, this wasn't about David, but I figured out it fitted him so much...cuz he's a Diva. lol
Oh, the light. The momentary blindness of the flash, the warm you feel in your cheeks, the perfect whiteness it leaves in your face, as if it was a new make-up that transforms your skin into velvet.
Two, three seconds...the noise is constant, is high and deafening, but all you hear is an echoing moan, and a little low voice in your ear, “you, you, you”.
Your body was sculptured by Gods, better forget the sex hours, your muscles contract to build a king posture, because that’s what you are. A King. Or Queen if you want. The power is in your every single cell, you want to suck it, keep it and cultivate it. To show every inferior someone, because they are smaller, smaller in everything, but they’re more, much more...
Wider, more poor, uglier, more ridiculous, unhappier.
So, the climax is gone and it calms down. But the power still remains in all of your pores. You still breath it.
Blinking heavily, the thick eyeliner layers needs to be removed. They hurt the eyes, but oh, what a wonderful pain.
The temperature is perfect. The only reason you’re not in heaven because heaven would be way too boring and monotonous to someone like you. There ain’t no nights like this at heaven. You wouldn’t be a star over there.
Hell wouldn’t beat it too. Because even though the inequaled drinks and sins, nothing compares to what you can buy.
Everything still shines. Your neck is still hard, your mouth tastes like ego, nothing else. Your sweet ego is protected by your self-steem, built by other people’s words. Or his words.
You never helped with it, why would you mind? You have people to do it for you.
So let’s sit and watch my glory being worshiped.
After two very quick hours, your body is burning. Of pleasure, of course. All the pain is pleasant.
You get up, in your golden heels, but you can call them Prada .
Your fingers don’t hurt anymore and all you feel is the pleasure of the soft divine carpet.
You turn your face and dissipate the white smile to receive the deafening, devilish and murderer round of applause in your ears. A moan of pleasure. A shot was never so pleasant.
Some Don Perignons in your crystal glass, some sips with your forced sexuality, some fake laughs and some faces sculptured by angels after, you’re not tired yet.
Beauty never made you tired. But now you’re ready to leave, because etiquette told you to.
You arrive home, still with vestiges of fun. But everything fades away, slowly...
Weaker, weaker, dark. Everything’s gone. The smells, textures, tastes, shapes. Where is my power? You know it’s not over yet. There’s a whole world out there with opened arms to you. But not inside these walls.
And you touch every part of your skin. Every inch of your glory. And still remember every hand that passed through this body. Every person that touched this sin. You smile.
And then, you smile. Then you laugh, then you laugh out loud. Reminding of every thing you’ve ever given to the others. And when everything seems complete and perfect, in a natural circle, you miss something.
The beautiful titled in black eyes wide up, creating a beautiful esphere. They fill up with worry. You run towards the vault and you know you could buy it all again, but you have the control. You haven’t lost anything. Not even what you can touch, not even what your hands can’t feel. Everything was there.
I take then my beautiful diamond watch, given to me by someone wich fame was bigger than mine.
I light up a narrow cigarette, and the fire back on my tongue just isn’t more pleasant then the smoke in my lungs.
I suck it with all of my strenght, and let it go very slowly. So then, with my naked image in the mirror, my soft skin, wet eyes, nicotine burning my fingers, dry throat, sparkling teeth, I ask myself: "Where is my heart?"
Sorry guys if it's too confusing, but it's kinda of a story. If someone didn't get it, ask me and I'll explain.