#astrise

Evelyn: It seems she's been Tainted by a man, and has developed a strange fetish.

THE MAN HOLDS HIS STOMACH OPEN FOR A PARAMOUR .             ‘      he  sits across you  busied by homework ,     unmade  and    half -  asleep. with that  D͟E͟L͟I͟C͟A͟T͟E͟ L͟O͟O͟K͟ T͟O͟      H͟I͟M͟  T͟H͟A͟T͟ S͟A͟Y͟S͟     H͟E͟ I͟S͟ D͟I͟V͟I͟N͟E͟        and   you are thrown       OFF BALANCE      seeing  him  as  something impossible ,  something awash of greens    that catch  land to drought .          ,           ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵈᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠⁱˡˡ ʰⁱᵐ ᵒᵘᵗ             and thus you are are watching yourself in   choler    ,     p a p e r      -  c u t       as though  he were not a boy of blood          but an imagined  world        𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥  𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 .       he sits there body stretched out   as though   H͟E͟ W͟E͟R͟E͟ A͟  S͟W͟O͟R͟D͟ ,  S͟I͟T͟T͟I͟N͟G͟ G͟U͟I͟D͟E͟D͟ B͟Y͟ T͟H͟E͟ R͟U͟I͟N͟S͟ O͟F͟ Y͟O͟U͟       with your  youth running miles  to hide from his       SOFT BODIED KNEELING     .   betwixt you is a gut tying sensation .         a       s e p a r a t i o n          bordered by bones cutting sentiments and so you pick him apart .        tallying his good points against his worst      𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘮 , brow crinkled and fingers counting .        T͟H͟E͟    S͟Q͟U͟A͟R͟E͟ R͟O͟O͟T͟    O͟F͟ 8͟1͟ I͟S͟ 9͟  , the root of      you is a love you cannot say     for he loves the water.   and thus  you letter his eyes  ,       figure his   mouth in a box pulled till all that would stand his teeth    .    

when his attention   rises from paper to question your own , your  tongue rests as a            ᵇʳᵘⁱˢᵉᵈ     ᵇᵘᵈ        ʷⁱᵗʰᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵒⁿ ˢⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵒᶠ      ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉᵃ   .      and  so   you look down and he goes back to the       LETTERS SOFT BOILED BY A  TEACHER          he'd be obedient to ,  as chasm between you grew thorns  for knowing that you'd always       𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 .        he  draws       his hands      over his  notebook      attentive      and  soft      and you think  what it would be to be held by those hands.    to feel them against your face  like  ᵃ ᶜʰᵉʳʳʸ ᵖⁱᶜᵏᵉᵈ   ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵉᵒⁿ ᶜⁱʳᶜᵘⁱᵗˢ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʰⁱˢ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ   as   though to say him everything    .         he  picks  his pencil  up to write  and you think what would be like to be that page ?    T͟O͟ H͟A͟V͟E͟ T͟H͟E͟ A͟T͟T͟E͟N͟T͟I͟O͟N͟.      A͟N͟D͟          T͟H͟O͟U͟G͟H͟T͟      O͟F͟ S͟O͟M͟E͟T͟H͟I͟N͟G͟     S͟O͟ G͟R͟E͟A͟T͟.     leaving you to not finish any of your own work but knowing you  are     a prophet and your  was grater then any. SECULAR TEACHING .   

.                         “    𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘬𝘦  ,       𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶        𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴      ?     ”         he     puts    a hand out for the other  ,        well versed   in       the         FOOLISHNESS      of   forcing meaning  in to  your existence ,   and so he     ᵈᵒᵉˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳⁱˢᵉ ᵐᵒᶜᵏᵉʳʸ           ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʳᵘᵗʰᶠᵘˡ    ᶜᵃʳᵉ.