Each sentence from the first text corresponds to each sentence in the second one.
Charm disguises the insults he throws at me as petals, and those silky bleached pink and maroon petals cover my open palms. They putrify in an instant, covering my pearly flesh in a sticky dark tar of humiliation. A gaping maw of regret consumes the hopeful eve of tomorrow.
Eagerness has left me standing where I am now, but I‘m standing on shorter legs. I paced a lightyear back and forth – hence the shorter legs – stumps even – the stardusts are really abrasive.
When I wake up from this delusional haven as a newly crepuscular soul, it is the loss of hope that I will weep for – the word, not feeling. Feeling‘s not a word.
How can I pray upon a word, you ask, or not. That‘s what I grasp, with my own eyes and mouth and ears and fingers. To smell a word I thought I was short of being able, until – I smell your neck and smell the words “your neck“.
I choose words.
How did I fall for this douche? I guess I‘m not going to be using those baby names. I need a to get blackout drunk.
Well at least I had fun. Man, I should have seen the red flags.
I will never get married. Does marriage matter though?
I‘d like to be a wife. A housewife. A dutiful housewife.
Anything to change my surname.