This Is An Exit

blinds

 

Nailing my hands to the cross, my mouth is turned upside down. The way the candle burns as she yearns for my touch; for the way my fingers explore her neurosis. Shoveling ashes, my days are spent hunting witches. They eat children. They float and suck on tender flesh. Oh, but these witches are so fine. The way their breasts bounce suspended in space. The way they hypnotize. And those legs. Wrapped around me as I do my thing, they push me in until I can’t resist. Two bodies juiced up and horny. But my mind is always splitting. Touching God and choking on her remedy as the little death burns the base of my crooked spine. From dust, I come. Slipping her clothes to the floor, ancient tongues lick my neck. I lick hers as well, but she won’t talk to me. She just wants it. Chloroform dreams and necrotic skin sizzling in the garden on a warm summers day. Classical gangbangs. Teeth biting lips with hands clenching damp bedsheets. Watching as we fuck, I make notes. The lighting, we were poorly lit. The technique, fine on my part but lacking on hers. The reflections of suicide upon the whites of her eyes, somewhat distant. Somewhere, a wasp flies looking for a high. It’s me, but not yet. The future, just waiting to penetrate. Sleeping next door with the bed still warm from the night before, she consumes herself with terrible thoughts. Drowned in acid and the odour of her cheapened sex. I’m fading now. Cigarettes and junk food. Scenes of a pornographic nature. Swirling lust and the trick of defeating oblivion. Peeling myself back, she swallows it whole. Strange spaghetti. The circus on the horizon brimming with drunk girls and puppets, and so much pointless drivel. Lazarus hushing and a spastic uterus. Suffering man, my head caved in with bricks and slabs of concrete, crushing me like a dog. The streets are cruel and vacant. Moisture in the air with oil beneath my nails, the waiter gives me a dirty look. A violin, maybe a cocktail. Watching from a table in some Parisian cafe, they know I’m dying but they don’t care. None of them do. Limbs ripped off and hated, my heart aches for beauty, but it’s lost. Lost like yesterday. Lost like the love between us that was once so strong.

2 replies »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s