In the room across from the stairs, she puts on her clothes and smiles at the memory of our act. In her arms, she has held many men but never has she held one like me. Between the sheets and between her legs, she has been looked upon with greedy eyes, but such eyes were as empty as they were without vision, if I do say so myself. Hers contain the month of fallen leaves and twigs. They blink at me with childish fascination as I wipe the sweat from the flesh of a body that’s seen better days. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I suck down the sweet nectar and taste nipples and tongues and the insides of her thighs that speak to me of love and electricity. There was a moment when I lost my mind. Not quite sure when, but it happened, and it was a wonderful thing. She knows but tries not to think about it, although I keep telling her it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. The line is a thin one, and it needs to be crossed. Until then, all you will do is wallow in bullshit. Madness brings beauty. It gives birth to it, and as such, those without madness will never be beautiful. Yeah, they might look pretty, and yeah, they might have a cute body that takes you places, but real beauty is a product of a splintered mind soaked in sadness and stained by confusion. Those that haven’t been touched by the magic of the abyss are just turds covered in glitter that deserve to be flushed away without a second thought. On her knees again with those eyes of hers locked on mine, we communicate without sound, and when we flower, we bloom in such a way it makes these damned days worth living.