With a surprise.
To leave the mouths hanging, as the arms are raised the head tilted up and sugar poured into the mouth until I choke.
Leave.
Leave.
Leave with an illness, a cough, puffy eyes and a dull ‘see you tomorrow’, showing the pictures of a possible tomorrow.
The talk show, the burnt toast, the synthetic orange juice, metal bread and gooey knife stuck in the heart.
The eyes are opened by someone, as if I were a fly with the legs curled up and organs rotting.
My arm lies touching the floor, a smile, sunken cheeks and green skin.
I must remind myself of an alien.
I tilt up the head, running my hands as the tears fall and I grip my face harder, leaving bruises, as the door gets kicked open to the smell and failure.
I sob.
I kiss myself goodbye.
The lips salty, reminding narcissism, but hey, I spend my death with a person I loved, a person I submit to the dead, the others dragging me, as I wished, to be taken away, people who I didn’t know mourning, people crying, people dying, because I did.
The hurricanes, the heat, the victory, the failure, the gold, the boredom, the delight of the sunken who grip upon us laughing as we make out with ourselves openly, admitting our love, our dislike to all humanity, our belief in innocence, our cult of virginity, rather losing it passionately instead of pleasuring ourselves to death, muting our screams into a pillow but instead we bite shoulders just to watch them bleed and rot, sinking our teeth deeper, faking a numb pain which we feel
Because they don’t.
As soon as they do, we come.
We grasp the braid, hang it upon the neck covered in red marks, acne, bites, scratches, cuts and leave it.
We know when we die.
We say see you, because, fuck, you’ll die too
.
And you’ll fucking think you are the world.
Musica
To leave the mouths hanging, as the arms are raised the head tilted up and sugar poured into the mouth until I choke.
Leave.
Leave.
Leave with an illness, a cough, puffy eyes and a dull ‘see you tomorrow’, showing the pictures of a possible tomorrow.
The talk show, the burnt toast, the synthetic orange juice, metal bread and gooey knife stuck in the heart.
The eyes are opened by someone, as if I were a fly with the legs curled up and organs rotting.
My arm lies touching the floor, a smile, sunken cheeks and green skin.
I must remind myself of an alien.
I tilt up the head, running my hands as the tears fall and I grip my face harder, leaving bruises, as the door gets kicked open to the smell and failure.
I sob.
I kiss myself goodbye.
The lips salty, reminding narcissism, but hey, I spend my death with a person I loved, a person I submit to the dead, the others dragging me, as I wished, to be taken away, people who I didn’t know mourning, people crying, people dying, because I did.
The hurricanes, the heat, the victory, the failure, the gold, the boredom, the delight of the sunken who grip upon us laughing as we make out with ourselves openly, admitting our love, our dislike to all humanity, our belief in innocence, our cult of virginity, rather losing it passionately instead of pleasuring ourselves to death, muting our screams into a pillow but instead we bite shoulders just to watch them bleed and rot, sinking our teeth deeper, faking a numb pain which we feel
Because they don’t.
As soon as they do, we come.
We grasp the braid, hang it upon the neck covered in red marks, acne, bites, scratches, cuts and leave it.
We know when we die.
We say see you, because, fuck, you’ll die too
.
And you’ll fucking think you are the world.
Musica
...luring horrors, but when they leave, there's always something in the corner of the soul
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