Let’s touch lips, and then press together our fingertips.
Let’s get lost in this erotic lounge, where no inhibitions or guilty conscious can be found.
A landscape of romance is the symphony we dance to in this exotic wasteland.
Is this psychosis? This dream doesn’t feel real, I’m beginning to fear the end to our fantasy, and our only hope is to be saved by our insanity. Can I rescue you from normalcy? Come dance with me along the tight rope of mental instability.
Let’s promise each other not to blink, for fear of the ending to this fairytale. Imaginations are truly wild; we are hidden in the forbidden comforts of devious desire.
We are those who can only be found between the lines, a product of an over-worked manic mind exhausted by one too many late nights, the air feels different tonight.
Fictional hallucinations can come alive; hold your breath when you surface, what you’re seeing is illusion, dive back down deep into delusion.
In the aftermath of eternity, through this vision of anxiety, it is hard to escape in this reality; we are in the post-modem phase of sanity, on the edge of turning red again.
We are on the wrong side of our timeline, our impulses are in control, and this must be the borderline. I wish that I knew magic, so I could save you from the truth, and make this story disappear.
Surrealism is so unreal.