Living in celibacy

A Billy Joel moment.
I had when slipping into my dark blue pyjama top and putting the linen into the bottom drawer.
Maybe, I think I am gorgeous now, with or without my hair tied – although I never liked stripes. The longer grey strains, the more value a female face gains.
Imaginary women can be rather pleasing; most men will tell you, my child.
‘Intimacy’ isn’t finished yet. P 184.
Some Sartre books were only published by Penguin. That are the ones I can never read.
”I walk away a fool or a queen.”
Unlike yesterday, when my head felt like a plastic projectile consistently digging through my sleeves, this starless night has nothing to offer in reasoning why my bed sheets are poppy red.
I can’t stand white forced upon me. Still I believe I should call someone, who is not related to me in any way – after all no one actually is.
I am afraid, I wouldn’t know what to tell you.
What if four books stacked on my bed side table won’t do for a dream?
After all without glasses I cannot even read my certificate anymore even standing right in front of it.
It is self-evident: failed musicians end up in poetry and forget they were looking for a suitable artistic niche.
It is too late for me, thus I live in celibacy.

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