I thought you would have known by now that I’m no good for you, baby. I’m no good the way I drag your heart out with my teeth.
You want to get up close. You want to crawl inside and taste me where it hurts.
When I let my mind wander it’s you like fire snaking through my veins, racing along my skin. You give me sex but I want feeling. I’ve been dead for so long now. I’m used to being alone with the black dress of night.
They give me work to do to stifle the screaming. Greenblue hum of glorified madness.
People are brick walls with no eyes, impossible to penetrate by softness of hand. Pain as startled liberation; violence to snatch you out of yourself and bring you back to life.
Early morning is gray like a tombstone and it is everywhere moaning its silence. I pour my coffee and fall from a storm cloud far off beyond the distant hills, the rushing of traffic and labyrinth halls which pulse their neon red sound.
There is a sadness we do not speak out loud
for fear of it killing us.
It burrows in.
You come to me like chimes at midnight. Spread my body upon cool grass. Using your thumbs you close my eyes. Choose your words carefully, baby. The dead are just sleeping – just dreams in your head. Touch me there. Kiss me at the gateway to this life like a prison.
Gatekeeper. God as Deadly Wanting. Holy Release.
One way out is pain. The other is ecstasy.
. . . .
I’ve been writing shit poetry in old beat up notebooks because I cannot seem to understand who I am at the moment. If I don’t write I go out of my mind, and I go out of my mind when I do, but I prefer the latter. The former is a suicidal masturbation. They don’t want you to write. They don’t want you to know yourself because if you do you will know them, too. See all the way the fuck inside. Find out we are all the same. Find out the secrets and destroy the game.