Dyed red hair, a forest green dress. And a pair of kitchen knives. It was the last time I ever saw a rose.
archaic bureaucracy doomed from the outset bloated and hedonistic invincible. and inert a bedridden monolith of uselessness we lack the fortitude. to pull the plug unable to envision our lives without it instead.
Why purchase respect when terror is on sale. Reverse nightstick butt fuck. At some point protection and domination became synonymous. And somewhere theres a bullet on its way to your face pig.
Androgynous we are. Ancient statues deformed in desert winds. Dead children play. In Mapplethorpe Grey. . Midnight orgies at the school for the blind.
Someday I'll find a way to win her over. She knows it's me calling again. Can feel her rolling her eyes. . These words I used to scream. From the rooftops.
My knuckles are bleeding on your front door. and these flowers are wilting in the rain.. They were for you and now they are for no one.. They are irrelevant as mercenaries in times of peace..
Jennifer wrestled her friend playfully to the ground. In front of the snowcone stand. And began licking at the girl's eyeballs. As if they were sugar cubes.
Happy birthday, you broken child. Of the barbed ribs and the poison heart. I would show you the view of life from the floor. But the knees are as far as you go.
Traced in a wet sand her name in perfect cursive.. A love letter to the crescent moon.. By tommorrow it will be gone I told her.. There is no tommorrow she said..
I always thought it fitting. The way they chose the next victim. With a bouquet of dying flowers. And how happy they appeared. As they ducked into the smiling hearse.
It flows like red lava upon a city. Of outstretched arms awaiting. Deliverance, awaiting rebirth as infestation. Beneath the skin of a goddess. . Divinity through association crawling toward mirages.
Stitched together into this beautiful monster animated by starlight.. Pose like a fashion corpse and shed your denim skin my love.. It is just a skull full of chlorine in the septic tank..
In this two bedroom tomb. I'm sitting all alone. With the television static. And refrigerator drone. . I'm waiting for those blessed arms. That seem to wrap around me.
Fingerprints on my eyes like ten tiny maps to heaven. Or ten rogue angels torching the house of God. I fell something pressing against my kidneys. Maybe a pair of wings, maybe the ghost of a bullet.
entrenched in a cult where you are assured that two and two is five. your twisted crosses and perverted religions cannot mask what is simply a holy war.
maudlin idea of government abolition noble in intention absurb in lack of. realism mirage of a sinister brain. trust our denial and desperation. force it.
Quixotic concept of examining foreign cultures. As opportunities for brotherhood and mutual cultivation. Instinctual xenophobia initiates conflict subjugation.
Long sleeved in the summer. Again in our gray shirts. Leaning against cinderblock walls. We even hide from the other prey. . But as soon as the lioness comes.
Certain things fascinate me. First I went blind and then the sun went out. The way you hold a match so steady. How heaven is collapsing under so much joy.