pink bath.

schizotechnic.

i'm feeling dead to heaven, thank the lord,
she's the blissful splitting darkness in the lightest word of all,
and we're alone, the three of us,
breathing in the summer dust,
searching for isolation in a town of devastation where our only education is in how to cheat the system.
careful but insisting,
urgent but still kissing.
she's the smell of jasmine petals
and a softer heavy metal
with the losers and confusers, and then us: social abusers.

don't you dare kiss me before you fade,
i want to taste her for days.
dead to heaven, thank the lord,
schizotechnic; my adored.

drenched in magenta and well stocked with lube,
we're catalyst stars, assisting the nudes.
and we're a tangle, the four of us,
of greys and choking ace's lust–
society's a liar and inertia means on fire, allegedly i'm broken, but now my adored has spoken.
careful but insisting,
urgent but still kissing.
she's the smell of jasmine petals
and a softer heavy metal
with the losers and confusers, and then us: social abusers.

don't you dare kiss me before you fade,
i want to taste her for days.
dead to heaven, thank the lord,
schizotechnic; my adored.