Ah, you just loved Saturday nights. Especially when it you had the fireplace going with the flames licking the ends of the charred logs, and nice warm, and fuzzy blankets draped over your lap as you curled up on the couch with a nice book. Everything was so serene, tranquil, and peaceful, you just adored it. Yawning softly as you opened your book to the latest chapter, you became excited to know what was to happen next in your fantasy world.
If only your boyfriend were here, sitting by your side, sipping his tea with his head in your lap as he stretched out on the rest of the sofa.
But... you spoke too soon.
For the door flew down, and your eyes widened as your boyfriend stood at the doorway, shit-faced drunk with the most confused expression settling over his features. "EREN," he called over his shoulder. "THIS ISN'T THE GAY BAR, I THINK WE TOOK A WRONG
Theme #5: Fake
'I guess they're a bunch of fakes after all.'
You checked your phone if there are new messages to your popular friends, your friends from the Nordic regions. They promised that they will go to your house and play games like Super Smash Brother or Mortal Kombat or any game that you wished. But, it seems that it all vanished into dust.
Did my invitations disappear?
Why'd I put my heart on every cursive letter?
Tell me why the hell no one is here
Tell me what to do to make it all feel better
You wiped the tears that welled up in your eyes, you must be strong, though you are falling apart. Your friends, Lukas, Mathias, Emil, Tino and Berwald have left your for popularity. Mathias and Emil started bullying you, while Lukas, Berwald and Tino would just ignore you and would sometimes give you a glare. They would always say that you're too lame to go to their parties that they initiate.
Maybe its a cruel joke
& nicotine because it is the only way
I can stomach the taste.
a phoenix told me once
that he could teach me
how to burn properly,
as if scolding
[ like the intercostal
spaces of a ribcaged
he fell in love
with my words
before he knew
the height of my
or the annoying
sound of my laugh.
he said he could count
all my scars on one hand-
even the ones that wake me
at 3 am with an itch i swear
begs me to rip them open
& i told him he could keep
his pretty words and fiery fingers
creatively away from me.
i am tired of smelling of hell
& ash when -
Rule number One:
You gotta have fun.
But baby when you are done, you gotta be the first to run.
It was fucking hilarious how that composed blonde man couldn't take his eyes off you. His baby blue eyes were piercing you, but you couldn't care less about his looks, and of course, that little-tiny-detail that he was a co-worker of your husband. I mean, he is too busy with his so dearest numbers.
The gazes between the two of you are more than obvious, and one of your friends ask you if you know him of anything.
" Oh no, but he will ".
And oh, what a meeting.
You get up taking your eyes off him only for seconds, in which he gets lost and drives the attention of his friends. He ask for pardon and gets up to go to the bathroom just as if he would have followed you.
Whar a rookie movement, you tell yours