The Unwrappings At Little Thomas’ Heart

The Unwrappings At Little Thomas' Heart

A peek into de.vil-ish diary This way through


Boom. The doors fall; the music walks in uninvited, uninfected. A bitter cupid plays his strings in Little Thomas' Heart tonight. The smiles sit waiting in the backseat under the muddy skies. The hands move behind backs not their own yet. Vanilla pictures creaking stories strum on the musicians fingers. The pain wouldn't hide itself. The grey of his eyes met the dove eyes on the other side of the table. Expectations. Great expectations.

The glasses clink, empty from too much drinking. The windows wash in rain. Midnight blues turn to grey. The rainbows walk in now. The vertiginous stilettos balanced under the masculine legs and pale feminine hands. A slither of tongue and the most provocative gesture falls flat on the face of human history. His legs part finding comfort in a position. The leather on his feet hurt. The lights eat away his sight. The sag seeks more territory than his middle-aged backside. Life is a short warm day.

Her lips part, mouth wide open, the lipstick smeared all over his lips. It was good to be embarrassed so. Little Thomas' Heart peeks from under its boredom with a disgusted amusement.

The stories flow and the glasses die. The fairies are far far away. Maybe farther lost than the smiles.