Jim

I am a bugs bunny sticker on a photograph
Tear me to see the faint outline of my corpus
I compare myself to the crowd which doesn't notice my plastic face
I take a gun in my mouth
People see it as a candy toy gun
I extract sugar from my blood
I take you from the crowd
Your eyes which shall glow
I shall hear the crowd sing
And you shall tell me what you shall feel
As I shall send the trigger upon the dead corpus
I'd kill you before
So that you'd tell me what you feel
What colours you see
As I held your eyes open to breathe
As space opens
A sphere above
The crows is a mass of chocolate
Feel free to eat them, baby
I am complete with your love
As I devour you as you bleed into my mouth
I ask you to describe
What you feel
As you leak into my tongue
As I lick your organs
One by one
Answer me
Once you don't
I'll die in a bathtub
A bottle to meditate to
And powder to breathe instead of using to wash my dirty thoughts
With white handkerchiefs
Which have lingered in your mind
Open

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This poem was written exactly after I finnished watching When You're Strange, the new The Doors documentary which is too good too even describe, the poem influenced by Morrisson and his quote on musicians and assasins.

I apologize for all the wait and all the work the blog needs. I'm back, Exit will be up this week, as it had won, with my favourite love scenes ever written by me, which, yes, I go gooey when I read them, but fear not, it is sick and dark, as everything my fingers have ever typed.

Script Frenzy and close deaths affected me, both of them, taking my time and giving me inspiration.

Death changes you, no matter, close or not, just once it hits the relatives, you just can't close your eyes on the bodies you'll see or rather the amount of the remains.

I may be harsh in some way, I've thought about it recently, as I can describe nearly every death and torture, finding art in sick short stories. (Yes, In The Penal Colony by Kafka is my favourite work).

But nothing is as shocking as the imagery, no matter, taken or made.