Little Raisin-Orange

My cheeks blaze, bright and pink. The room isn't peculiarly warm, but my burning complexion insinuates the lingering heat that toils over my flesh. I drink a caffeinated beverage not for the sake of the cold but because it slakes my craving.

Why is it that I say no, when what I really want to say is yes? It could be my standards and morals, or an unconditional training, which causes the negative sound to be expressed. I burden myself with grief over intangible things, but after waking from a dream I am invigorated and reacquainted with that joy I find so familiar and secure. What should delve me deeper into my rift of woe contradictorily situates me into my seat of passion. I love life and the people I'm able to share it with. The former may be more consistent than the latter, but the flavor isn't delicious unless the two components are combined.

The flavor of my life is contemporary. It's like sex in a pan. They didn't have that in the Old World. There may have been dilapidated cities coddled by disease and decaying flesh. Perhaps there were sailors that swaggered onto shore, they're skin yellow; waxen and wane. With their scurvy and their sunken eyes and woebegone hellish dark circles hanging heavily below. With all these luxuries and they didn't have sex in a pan.

The pitiful tomatoes plucked from our garden have been relinquished to a sorry pile strewn over newspaper beside my computer desk. I've been watching their plodding rotation from apple green to poppy-red. One in particular near the back of the group is still partially green but it's turning white with rot. I've watched it from the budding moments of decomposition and yet can't bring myself to remove it from its cluster of relations. Not to mention I have a miniscule orange inside my room on the second-last shelf of my bedside stand. It's been sitting in a glass bowl since late July or so. I've been tolerating the occasional fruit fly to see how long it'll last until it dries up like a raisin.

My little raisin-orange.

I'm a gross person and have terrible habits. I should be punished for my atrocious deeds and impertinent stream-of-consciousness writing. Damn you Evan for inspiring this trashy entry.