The secrets of her womb, motel walls painted vagina red. Oh, how the lovers stroll hand in hand, blind and in love. It’s nothing but a cheapened facade though. For their love is false. Born out of boredom, and swallowed up like hospital food. All those burning wheels, turning on the horizon as we fuck without end. Machines of god. Machines of imagination. The landscape of my mind, infinite and obscure. The riddles I place upon her lips. The way I run my tongue around her nipples as cities burn invisibly. My fingers going in and out. A big man laid bare. Not really there, but always deep inside. A phantom, red with rage. Teeth, white and sharp, chewing on pinky flesh. Implode, explode, do as I please. Bottled beer and sandstorms. Waves of mutilation, caressing the demons that dance unseen.
Ignoring banality, drunken ideals worshiped with ease. Placed on pretty pedestals, sprayed with liquid so fine. It lulls and crushes, digging behind eyes wide alive. The shape of her curves before the open door, silhouetted against ancient suns. She’s a modern lover, much more than a woman. The heat of her touch, lulling like you wouldn’t believe. More natural than the trees, older than religion. Something so easily overlooked, but never forgotten. The magic of her madness, brighter than a thousand dead stars. Smoking a cigarette with her body swimming just out of reach, the room dissolves around us as she targets pleasure zones so intricate. Sepia skies and crimson skin. Car crashes and lost days on the freeway.
They shovel ashes as the wind blows sand into their faces. All those pointless cunts you left behind. All the useless fuckers you met along the way. You hate them, yet you love them. They populate your world, and for that, you can’t help but be grateful. Love your friends, love your enemies. Love the boredom, love all those wasted days. It makes you, you. Success should be pissed upon. Any form of triumph brings nothing but mediocracy. Avoid contentment at all cost. Safety is drowning, always consuming. Eat fire, embrace the waste. Fuck until it hurts, isolate yourself until there’s no going back. Remove all traces of the non-believers. Scrape ’em off. Live for dreams. Be obscure. Despise the adult world, and celebrate madness. Never be normal, it’s a fate worse than death. Stood naked as she sings in a language unknown, I pump as hard as I can and laugh until there’s no more air left in my lungs.