Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: smile

This Is Interactive Fiction

Let us play a game. I know that sounds cheesy but bear with me. The game has two rules: I must not kill you, and you must do anything that I ask. If either of us breaks the rules, the game is over. The game starts in three, two, one …
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Enabling Nostalgia

You took a photograph of her when she was weak. You said that photographs enable nostalgia too much if we exclude moments like these. There was a kind of glee to your voice, a cheesy, plastic grin on your face as if you were the one in front of the camera. She, in turn, wore no expression, just a hospital blanket spattered with irregular polkadots, like someone had meticulously painted each one. The camera spat out the photograph like a bitter pill, but I looked in your albums today and there are only pictures of white teeth and deep dimples.

Freeverse Smiles

Our metaphors fuck like we do. My poetry leers and wants to know what it can do to yours. There is a smile on your face that is both innocent and not at the same time. Coy, devious. A soft purr hangs in the air, poise of a cat ready to pounce. You smirk, and you lean against me, and you move your leg an inch more; that is a pounce. I kiss you progressively: cheek, corner of mouth, lips. You beam. There is an innuendo in here, somewhere. There is want. There is a stupid grin on my face.

Clockwork Smile

I’m a smile that smiles too wide, a frown that frowns too deep. Do you ever feel like you are made out of nothing but broken parts? Little veins that are too quick to burst, skin cells oversensitive to allergens, a pathetic mind that just takes on the characteristic of the weather you can see out through the window. And you try so much to be more than the sum of your parts, but you’re a little clockwork robot which, if wound up, falls apart. A heart that never really comes unstuck, a clenching fist that never really lets go.