lately i cant imagine myself watching you dance in your lilac dress, shoulder blades slitting throats and slender fingers elevating the toes of all those present in this fraudulent cheeky grandeur, the hairpool of ecstacy you so apathetically wrap around my neck filling each crevice of my neck lines; my face red (your favourite colour) am i enigmatic still giving you lady boners?
you see the thing is this you doesn't even exist, i make her up for my homosexual anarchy.
i imagine her dancing around in dewy grass bare foot to the song of cicadas under the secular blue light. annihilate sweet apollos love girl. but then i imagine her bare foot bleed and paint the green dewy grass red (still dewy though innit) and the cicadas suddenly chant death psalms while they cry in vain; screeching, reminding her she isn't real, reminding me of how desperate i am that ive become akin to self destruction by destroying the fragments of my own imagination-they're pretty godly for the song of failures that's making my ear bleed and why is it red? haven't i choked enough on tangerines and lemons and marmalades and how could i forget filling my nostrils with your sick sweet disgusting strawberry scent. oh fuck wait you're not even real
you once had eyes like the burning end of my cigarette, suck one breathe in and you're on fire but the cigar's dying out and so are you and now am i so i try to be gentle and generously suck in all the fire out of you
walk over the stub one last time thereof furthermore hence thus still carry your fragrance home while you're alive burning and decaying my lungs instead.
- you were the only one i had all my selfish titillating ideas fixated on
THE END
