mini fibre pens

I am just abit frustrated as I sit here.
I lie.
Very, actually.
I was watching Audrey Tautou's breasts rise and fall.
So I took off my pyjamas and looked at mine in a push up bra in the mirror.
Battled the darkness first. Listened to the unnerving rush of water from the pond below through an open window. I opened it this afternoon and was reluctant to shut it.
I've always liked breasts although I'm not 'queer' (quote Andrea Gibson).
Wishing I did not have small bumps on my chest or stretch marks that line my collarbones.
Of course they had to pick a beautiful woman to film Amelie.

I also watched her and that Matthiew guy laugh on a motorbike.
And of course, you have to pick a beautiful woman to be with you.
Then I had to cry because I felt my face hurt again.
I am not a woman.

Of course, I picked a top today. Whether it's beautiful, I don't know, but I feel beautiful when my head's all woozy and as I tipped my head back I was afraid I would see things.
But the feeling was only temporary.
I should buy myself an ash tray just for the f**k of it.
What it may store, I don't know.

Right now I feel like an old lady in red silk.
How do holes form on our underwear?
I was thinking about that when my father drove me to Esso.

The night is my stage.

(Little touches.
You deny me my little touches.)

All through my nose I feel this heat.
And it calms me down.
Anyway I dreamt of you and her last night.
You two were getting ready to dance with sampan hats on and I could only stand there as I watched you go.
Of course I cried. Whether they were beautiful, I don't know but of course, you have to pick beautiful tears to fall all around my face while thinking of you.