my mouth lives in a house that is stained by various kinds of scent: the rustic air of woods, the warm vapour of sweetness that can be found in the deepest layer of the earth. the roof smells like tequila, with a hint of salt that has been left for a period of time, which no longer possesses the saltiness of mineral salt and has the bitterness of sea water instead. the roof exudes drops of bitterness to the fertile soil of the ground. the ground, has more texture to it. it has an accent of some scent too, a thin air of diluted whiskey, but overshadowed by its gum-like texture. finally today, the house: the ground and the floor are left scentless, but because a house that does not smell like anything seems lonely and real, we taint the walls and the roof and the ground with even more viscous smell. the smell of menthol, and ashes, solid ashes that have been packed and rolled with paper, burnt to grey ashes again. the house reeks of smoke that is shooting up the roof, raising until the sky is black no longer blue. so a heart is now black no longer blue, a fulfilled emptiness instead of forlorn clues. we burn our heart so that it erases the sky, the ocean, the very clarity of blue that haunts us everyday, each shade of blue represents different kinds of sadness that is often mistaken for calm.
my mouth lives in a house that is stained by various kinds of scent: my mouth lives in yours.
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