Fatalism

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Like Icarus being spat out by the sun, or the arrows of Saint Sebastian protruding from your swollen belly. To devour flesh and wine. To feel the pain of childbirth, and to taste the fear that keeps you in its grip as the midnight hour slowly ticks away. Past block after block of empty buildings, the rain pisses down and dances with the ghosts of all those ex-lovers who may as well be dead. Drunk and fired up, I want to snuff myself out, to rid the world of such a mess. Snakes around my torn off cock and the scent of ecstasy on your alcohol stained lips, my hands move up your dress searching for a doorway made of light. Pushing you against a wall, and watching as you change into shapes I can’t name. Trees bending in the wind, we become like water as the rain puts out our cigarettes. Beneath bridges, we move against oncoming headlights and the roar of speeding trains. Broken, it’s all broken. Pioneers of death, bringers of cursed heirlooms. Beer-drenched shame, the kind that rots your insides, and no matter how hard your try to enjoy the silence, the endless chatter of lost conversation cuts away at you like a one-armed scissor. Black feathers falling from the sky like snow. Snorting whores as the crowd gather around a victim bathed in neon horror. Fragments of clothing soaked in oil. Shattered glass and pieces of betrayed faith glistening like your mother’s smile just before the darkness came and ate her away. Faces I’ve never known. Dreams I’ve never dreamt. Yet as my fingers unlatch your bra, my heart swings like a pendulum. Searching for pleasure, there’s only my cursed words to keep you company as I lick them across the back of your neck. Spare me the suspense, and just skip to the end. Empires of triangles as my thumb slides beneath your tongue and a prism of ancient pawn stores align themselves somewhere upon your inner thighs. Look at me as I do this to you, and beg me never to stop.

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