Natasha De La Bomb. Natasha the Reject.

The hills across the valley of the Ebro
were long and white. On this side
there was no shade and no trees and the
station was between two lines of rails
in the sun. Close against the side of the
station there was the warm shadow of
the building and a curtain, made of strings
of bamboo beads, hung across the open door
into the bar, to keep out flies. The American
and the girl with him sat at a table in the
shade, outside the building. It was very hot
and the express from Barcelona would come
in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction
for two minutes and went to Madrid.
'What should we drink?' the girl asked.
She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.

i am natasha. i am a bomb. bold, bare, frozen

Email.
NatashaAdorlee@Gmail.com

because i'd rather fill this space with nonsense.

natashaadorlee.com,

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self_(psychology), http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Family,

Tuesday, September 15, 2009, 5:11 PM

My sense of responsibility
for you, is weak
And though the sun
may peak
Her bright and shiny head,
I am four steps from dead
with whiskey in throat
striking up a winter laden band.
One hand over my eye
and another open in the dark.

Through the city harbor
blind cat ropewalker
down to the skylit charmer
into wounded arms
and gaunt and weary couches
I am wilting away.
With your breath hot on me
sedating my needs
like I sedate and taint you-

But suffocate, suffocate
Disintegrate and fascinate
all my childish fantasies
of being pressed into the trees
pressed into the dirt,
Your hips slipped between
a little exposed thigh.
Pressed and suffocating-
under your weighted throb.