Angst
Mikhail
By: Mushroom
Freeverse
There is such a thing
As a person who
is born without
distractions
Bulging out of his skin
Or what’s left of those
Supple things you want to
Hold.
He
Learns of a sunflower’s scent
And the tune of
a paintbrush
His eyes scatter;
Minding the other inhaling
His own eager
Rose.
Heaven dropping
Hands gliding
down
measuring the length
Of satin sheets
Against his back
He screams for
More.
When he touches
Sharp bristles
Crowning the other
head
He knows it is wrong, yet
hides a smile,
Waiting for him to
Stop.
***
The Monologue of Yet Another Tortured Man to His Most Desired
Author: Mushroom
Rating: PG
Allow me to express my dearest and sincerest words for you,
My good friend.
Ehem.
I thought ladies walking by
With their fancy skirts and scarves (as it is in fashion today, but what do I care of them?)
Would catch my interest.
I mean I just THOUGHT,
And then my thoughts became jumbled and tousled and-
Well, I made a mess of myself.
Ladies know; they have that sense of sorts.
Sensible, I mean.
Anyway, as I was saying…
Uhh…yes, the ladies.
I wouldn’t look at them, they wouldn’t look at me, and god knows why these things don’t happen.
Did I just mention something inappropriate?
Moving on.
So,
I saw you the other day
You were wearing my favorite sweater
And my favorite sneakers
And my favorite tight-fitting pants.
Now don’t look at me like that!
They’re my favorites, especially when you wear them.
Much better, best for your form.
And they’re not even mine, which makes them even more special.
Because they’re from you, of course.
And they’re around you.
Enveloping you.
I could see your figure, even underneath thick wool. Sorry, I was looking that day. It was quite noticeable, actually. Very obvious. 'Twas winter, and the weather was too much to bear, but my eyes received a handful.
I told you explaining myself is such a chore!
I’ve changed?
Why, I’ve been like this for such a long time now!
Okay, okay, I’m rather shaky now, but I’m working on it.
So, without making myself look silly;
(Though it’s probably too late for that.)
I just thought that…
Maybe…
If we hold hands
(Mine's all sweaty, but at least it's warm)
And you feel something...
Maybe…you can tell me what it is?
I need someone to explain it all to me; I don’t really understand myself anymore.
We can swap ideas
Emotions, things like that.
Ladies do that often; why can’t we?
I know, I know! It’s a weird suggestion.
I’m never making another one again, I promise.
Yes, I promise.
You don’t have to leave, though.
Not now.
To the ladies? They’re walking by? What? But I just-yes, I must admit they’re an adorable bunch. Like porcelain dolls. Rather easy to break.
We are too old to be playing with dolls--not that I used to.
You’re dating one of them, yes?
Oh.
Is she pretty? You’re asking me if she’s pretty?
Well, I’m afraid so-I mean, I guess so.
Go on.
Catch your lass.
Yes, no problem.
I think she turned left, to the convenience store.
Right. Cheerio! No, no, I’ll pay. If you stay I can make it a triple scotch!
Fine.
Oh, me? I think I’ll just go home and watch the news and-good lord he’s off-eat popcorn and drink hot chocolate and drown myself with wine and fruits, maybe baskets of cookies and then I’ll go pour them all in the tub so I can sink in it like the Titanic while bleeding my eyes off their sockets, chewing on my purple lips and scratching the good five minutes of courage off, because it hurts, it hurts when you don’t listen.
By: Mushroom
Freeverse
There is such a thing
As a person who
is born without
distractions
Bulging out of his skin
Or what’s left of those
Supple things you want to
Hold.
He
Learns of a sunflower’s scent
And the tune of
a paintbrush
His eyes scatter;
Minding the other inhaling
His own eager
Rose.
Heaven dropping
Hands gliding
down
measuring the length
Of satin sheets
Against his back
He screams for
More.
When he touches
Sharp bristles
Crowning the other
head
He knows it is wrong, yet
hides a smile,
Waiting for him to
Stop.
***
The Monologue of Yet Another Tortured Man to His Most Desired
Author: Mushroom
Rating: PG
Allow me to express my dearest and sincerest words for you,
My good friend.
Ehem.
I thought ladies walking by
With their fancy skirts and scarves (as it is in fashion today, but what do I care of them?)
Would catch my interest.
I mean I just THOUGHT,
And then my thoughts became jumbled and tousled and-
Well, I made a mess of myself.
Ladies know; they have that sense of sorts.
Sensible, I mean.
Anyway, as I was saying…
Uhh…yes, the ladies.
I wouldn’t look at them, they wouldn’t look at me, and god knows why these things don’t happen.
Did I just mention something inappropriate?
Moving on.
So,
I saw you the other day
You were wearing my favorite sweater
And my favorite sneakers
And my favorite tight-fitting pants.
Now don’t look at me like that!
They’re my favorites, especially when you wear them.
Much better, best for your form.
And they’re not even mine, which makes them even more special.
Because they’re from you, of course.
And they’re around you.
Enveloping you.
I could see your figure, even underneath thick wool. Sorry, I was looking that day. It was quite noticeable, actually. Very obvious. 'Twas winter, and the weather was too much to bear, but my eyes received a handful.
I told you explaining myself is such a chore!
I’ve changed?
Why, I’ve been like this for such a long time now!
Okay, okay, I’m rather shaky now, but I’m working on it.
So, without making myself look silly;
(Though it’s probably too late for that.)
I just thought that…
Maybe…
If we hold hands
(Mine's all sweaty, but at least it's warm)
And you feel something...
Maybe…you can tell me what it is?
I need someone to explain it all to me; I don’t really understand myself anymore.
We can swap ideas
Emotions, things like that.
Ladies do that often; why can’t we?
I know, I know! It’s a weird suggestion.
I’m never making another one again, I promise.
Yes, I promise.
You don’t have to leave, though.
Not now.
To the ladies? They’re walking by? What? But I just-yes, I must admit they’re an adorable bunch. Like porcelain dolls. Rather easy to break.
We are too old to be playing with dolls--not that I used to.
You’re dating one of them, yes?
Oh.
Is she pretty? You’re asking me if she’s pretty?
Well, I’m afraid so-I mean, I guess so.
Go on.
Catch your lass.
Yes, no problem.
I think she turned left, to the convenience store.
Right. Cheerio! No, no, I’ll pay. If you stay I can make it a triple scotch!
Fine.
Oh, me? I think I’ll just go home and watch the news and-good lord he’s off-eat popcorn and drink hot chocolate and drown myself with wine and fruits, maybe baskets of cookies and then I’ll go pour them all in the tub so I can sink in it like the Titanic while bleeding my eyes off their sockets, chewing on my purple lips and scratching the good five minutes of courage off, because it hurts, it hurts when you don’t listen.