About a week ago, I got the idea to write a collection of stories, each piece composed of exactly one hundred syllables- no more, no less. I've written two pieces so far, and I'm not yet sure how I feel about them, so feel free to read them and comment, critique, trash them, whathaveyou:
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You've had enough of me, and roll over to take the post-coitus nap worthy of the misogynistic sitcom characters whom you laugh at when not sleeping nor ejaculating. The air is pungent, filling my nostrils with a sense of urgency as though the chemical reactions happening within the confines of my body are meant to remind me that life is fleeting, and love even more so.
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Youth has betrayed you: one of the most organic pranks played on man since the days of sloping foreheads and cave etchings-- unwelcome; settling deeply, comfortably into the pores of your skin, revealing the secrets of your life to outsiders; each crevice spins a different tale from years long passed, divulging information upon a single innocent glance; tirelessly embodying tiredness.
wow...so much better & deep than anything i could ever attempt to write... :)
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