One Thursday morning in the month of July, I was born with my mother’s umbilical cord wrapped tight around my throat. In those first suffocating moments, dark forces were against me and have been ever since. The nature of being and the energies of dead galaxies- how they caress and scratch my face in equal measure. What gives me pleasure brings me pain. Love, sex. They take me places that both excite and torment. Pulled back and forth, it’s a difficult ride. In one breath comes the mouth of a lover, the next, some leviathan intent on dragging me under the seas to be submerged by yet another great depression. It’s light and then it’s dark. It’s heaven and then it’s hell. One minute you’re swimming in summer and glued to the life of bar fights, the next, some bum sat watching life go by outside curtainless windows, hungover and numb to everything. Days of walking the line; of struggling to keep it all together for no reason whatsoever. And then the next minute you’re making love to a beautiful woman drunk on a mixture of beer and shots with the image of a rapist beaten to death on the streets outside your local library used as lubricant. The slab comes up; the slab goes down. A fractured skull for a fractured mind. Life is a fear, and yet it seduces just the same. As blood flows down the gutter and sirens cut through the night, my heart sinks then floats on the wings of a butterfly. It falls through the floor then rises like her hips as I push myself in as deep as I can while grabbing a handful of her hair and stating in no uncertain terms that she’s mine and no one else’s. With every thrust comes salvation, but with each climax comes the mocking touch of death. Be my angel, and be my devil. Quench my thirst and stoke the fire; ignite the rage and shake the cage. The hairs on the back of your neck; they capture the scent of what I love and hate about you the most, and as strange as it seems considering the arguments and long stretches of silence that follow, there’s no one else who does it like you.