Waste And Perfection

sunday t

Wash beneath your foreskin. Be concerned by cancerous moles. Check for lumps. Hold your balls, and search for the end. Get fucked up. Fuck, like there’s no tomorrow. Drop acid. Drink until your insides bleed. Smoke until your lungs burn black. A vision of the future- an old man dying, pacing the hospital floor. Heaven is a lover, one cold September morning. Reborn through intimacy, nothing else means a thing. Take a shit, and love the guts of everyone. Shudder as you piss out memories in the urinal of some downtown bar. Years come and go. Too many ghosts. But beauty overpowers all. Delicate, sublime, beauty. Through thick and thin, it clings. Between bedsheets and engulfed in silence, this is a vision of perfection. Remember what makes you happy, and work for it with everything you have.

Seasons of dim feeling pass unknowingly. Lovers on thin ice, treading carefully. Eat junk. Spit out cavities. Place fingers on pulsating sex, and work it like some kind of wizard. A magician in the midnight hour, casting shadows on your bedroom wall. Repeat and repent. Our saviour, like no other. Dream lover, somewhere safe and warm. A fond farewell, to fleeting truths. Scabs and scratched skin. Pitchforks lamented. Sluts and black stockings. Hail to the king. Bow down, to what you serve. Big man with a gun, ready to give what needs to be given. Symmetrical with dead stars. Arms around faith and lips kissing memories of autumnal fear. Throw away every useless thing. Breathe in, and just let go. Little deaths, like petals of a flower. Place them on her belly, and marvel at what you see. Cup her breasts, then fall asleep. Laika in outer space, so lonely and forlorn as time ticks away.

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