Sometimes I wish we would have stayed strange because every confession was an effort in vain. Yet I believed with an altruist’s mind. I witnessed the schemes and it’s just a lie that an honest tenderness in-between lust would always differ us from being a cheap fuck. And it’s all a lie that we could survive when the crimson pours out but ambitions are high. Between the glimpse of an eye and the lack of perfection is enough room for the painstaking perception that I feel too much of the things that hurt. I am a hopeless altruist in this abhorrent mazed world.
all rights reserved