War

the_golden_fields

She takes photographs of dead people. She captures herself even though she has no image. Eating barbiturates keeps her face from sinking. American dead. London vampires feeding all through the night. Pouting little piggies, wrapped in cashmere with nowhere to look but down. Gaze at beauty and reduce it to a mere object. Worship the damned and pose as a mannequin adorned in garish clothes. All that finger licking nausea, bubbling beneath whored flesh. Sold to the highest bidder, with not one ounce of emotion left. Buildings as ruins. Affection replaced with infliction. Hostility at the drop of a hat. A sea of regular faces with the perception that they are somehow wonderful. That because they desire it, they must be given success and fame. And that’s exactly what they deserve. Let them squirm. Let them suffocate as they realise it’s too late. Vice attracts vice. The deceived betrayed by deceivers. In fields of corn, their childhood innocence withers beneath a boiling sun. The charm of young tongues repelled by the adult world. Become a machine. Deny love. Go with the ghosts and keep telling yourself that you did it for a reason. But the real reason lies within. It keeps picking away, and now you don’t know what to do anymore. Skeleton keys and the mummified remains of the person you once were. Shadows on your dress. The dirt beneath your fingernails. Clawing for salvation, yet the sky remains black. Trapped in a mess of delusion and denial, the sun won’t shine until you wipe that look right off your face. Born and buried in the same breath. Cauterize all wounds before the weak infect your pale flesh. Sunflower seeds and Vicodin. Crippled crows and wasp repellent. Take all your amulets and throw them in the river. Their meaning is lost to you now. Sing it to the mountain. Howl in the darkness. Made of fire and stone. Constructed from the leftover pieces of young lust. Adorn yourself with nails. Walk on shards of shards. Cheapness against butterfly wings. The planets and stars missing from your DNA. Strands of persona left in the leaves and buried deep in the snow. Catwalk shame. Molested by midgets. Numb from tidal waves and Ferris wheels burning on the horizon. Digital sex and virtual self. No longer a woman. Never a man. Smoke a cigarette at the end of the pier. Watch as everything collapses. Scream as nature comes to take what you so cruelly took for granted many years ago. This war that you cannot win. This battle that rages within. This is not an exit. This door has no key.

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