SUCK TO BREATHE
There’s been a murder. Things are really starting to shape up.
“She came right up to the doorway, laughed, and used two hands to pull
the knife down my back.”
It made her lustful and wet with inspiration.
I’m compelled to shiver and finally come through, my sick skin burning
and melting in favor of this spotted shell.
Out in the world pages crumble.
Countless places whisper a concrete chance at New Jerusalem I’ve tried
to hide it.
Memories grant naked spaces I feel warm in the cold desert evening.
Unaccustomed to lovers making promises, conversation-washing pardons stumble
down streets of gold and hearts are warmed by fornication.
My skull cracked and I couldn’t breathe, hands purple with envy.
My imagination ran away and onto a page; I was a little shocked
when she hiked up her skirt and let me in for the ride of my life.
Silence robbed me of circumstance but never passion.
It doesn’t make sense to me like it’s pushed through my body from somewhere
else but somehow formulated into a subject.
Heaving silver stars into a network of cold souls,
a ghostly sanity will juxtapose a sweet undertow.
I need to suck on this to survive.
I can feel her in my fingers, shaking/trembling and experiencing hot flashes
of an alcoholic demise her cunt feeds me freedom.
Has anything changed?
“I wish I was there to give you a huge hug right now. This isn’t working.”
Damaged skin and jubilant white light break through a coffin buried beneath
a cringing pool of toil and blood.
She’s admittedly red with happiness and excitement.
I’m exploring this contempt and relaying a still-beating heart
that was handed to me by Jehovah in an effort to put a muzzle on his choir.
He’s pissed that I’m a failure. I was on cloud nine.
There’s been a security breach I’m hungover and hung up.
She’s a free spirit at my expense.
There are painful screams coming from inside the auditorium.
Her best guess is, “Dr. Filth did it in the little boy’s room with the microphone.
“It was only the best night of my life.”