domingo, 10 de enero de 2010

Winter randomness

'Who's my little angel?' You say. 'You, you, my little angel, you, with the white broad wings flapping in the wind.'

I shiver. Little angel, you say? 'Aye. Little. Tiny. Angelic. Angel.' Tiny little angel. For what do I do better than look after you? Isn't that what angels do? I imagine myself, floating along the sky, caring for you with eyes fiery as a wild cat, staring at whoever might want to hurt you.

Not an angel, though. Not at all. I shake with uncontained laughter, badly disguised joy and mischief glinting in my eyes. Not an angel. 'Not an angel? As if. You're pure.' You argue. I giggle. Pure? I'll teach you pure. I'll lick you clean of that glittering pixie dust, and you won't call me an angel again, cause I ain't no angel. I'm a kitty, and not a tame one.

'Aye, my angel. Whatever you say.'

2 comentarios:

Danny dijo...

Well, if he swears you're an angel, his reality sense is really warped, man. You're anything but, aren't ya?

Yo dijo...

Oh, shush. Go molest someone else, I'm done with you for the day *rolls eyes* Oh, btw, morrow at 5 gotta be in class, cut a brain and all that shit we all love. Boro's gonna kick our arses, but meh.

And by the way, why the fuck are we talking on my friggin blog? Poke my msn, sissy.