Cold so cold with snow and empty parking lots everywhere you dare look. Flirtatious girl afraid of mirrors, but not of cameras. Dressed in next to nothing with white teeth so glossy, visions of heaven consume while taking a bath, as do feelings close to limbo while waking up past noon all bleary eyed and tired. Stale smoke so clingy, a bath washes away dirt but never sin. She dances, but not for me, and as last night’s wine still heightens illusion, these promises never seem to deliver. Sliding my fingers into her mouth, I’m searching for a voice that will shake me out of this funk. Obsession isn’t ugly; it’s just a sensation that disregards the difference between right and wrong. It’s a way of being that knows only desire. This is why we ignore pleasantries and cut to the core of what it means to be alive. Angry and damned, and with no chance of salvation. There’s no redemption, either, only the shape of her breasts beneath a top the colour of lust. There’s no love, only the need to not arouse suspicion. Money is king. Possession god. I want nothing of it. I want perversion stuffed in every hole and derision in every breath. The obliteration of bodies, and the cleansing of minds ready for the fall- these come above all else. Chaos in the way we kiss. Leviathan from my loins to yours. This isn’t a phase; it’s in my blackened blood. It pumps straight to my heart, and as you roll your eyes, I’ll pluck them out and swallow them as if they were olives. Lucid touch. Hard and cracked with no way back. Not the girl you used to be. Not the kind of lover that sets me on fire how you did before. Barricades to keep out all the non-believers, and solitude to save yourself from the absence of thought- the thing they crave above all else. Lost in the bright lights of nowhere and ready for destruction, we rise again to the sound of war.


A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com

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