Some days weeks ago a man dressed inappropriately for the occasion comes to see me yelling banging on the outside otherside of my front door with his knuckles yelling "captain captain captain captain captain captain captain captain!" so i hid behind the sofa until he left. it was three o'clock in the morning. i had been shooting cocaine all night and howling prayers at my reflection in the blackened television screen.
i can't believe we met on this lonely crowded street, i told the famous junkie in the box, the wordsmith with the wanton ways, wearing his gorilla suit trying to scare me but it won't work. i saved the heroin for when the sun was coming up and when it did i thought about loading the whole mess up in one shot and doing what that chicken shit god should have done a long time ago, but i was also the chicken shit as well, too. ariadne wept.
i watched the boiling glow of the wicked sun pushing out the blessed darkness through the windows in my kitchen, falling on my face every so often sitting cross legged on the floor amongst the blood and piss and cum splattered throughout the place, the walls decorated with the heads of all my previous victims, each one more difficult to wrestle to their death than the last. i poured myself the last drink of scotch from the bottle before shattering it against the floor and walking barefoot into the living room, the glow of the muted television set blowing up the room.
i ran around naked gathering all the sheets, towels, blankets i could find and armed myself with duct tape, a hammer and a nailgun autographed by the last crucified broken necked surfer child to own the beaches and wow the fans. when the deed was done it was nighttime again and my wings were fashioned out of gold. there was to be no lament for any of the escaped.
with the nailgun i shot out the rest of the artificial lights, shot up the coke. the back of my hands looked like they belonged to a leper. i quarantined myself just to be safe.
and i swear to god, it's not my fault this mask i wear
this gloom i bear
when the man returned i was prepared. "captain!" he said kicking down the door with his boots. "captain captain captain captain!" i donned the warpaint without regard for fashion or falling apart , failing miserably or fun. captain captain captain captain captain captain captain captain we are not alone
walking through the walls he says i'm unarmed he says here! throwing an envelope at my feet and then being still, his arms up in the air without me having to tell him to do so. i come out from behind the couch unashamed.
i don't buy a word of it, i tell him. my brain operates like a burning bridge.
"she's a sinking ship!" he yells over his shoulder, running into the hills and shielding himself beneath the protection of the trees. how i found out about her death was not from the phone calls or the conversations but, sometimes you just know these things. the funeral was nothing like building a house, but it collapsed anyways and an entire generation of christ child's were smothered to death in the rubble. the village never recovered. the newspaper went under and the entire system failed. i managed to survive the riots but things have never been the same. hip to their hypotenuse their geometric ways...
i can't believe we met on this lonely crowded street, i told the famous junkie in the box, the wordsmith with the wanton ways, wearing his gorilla suit trying to scare me but it won't work. i saved the heroin for when the sun was coming up and when it did i thought about loading the whole mess up in one shot and doing what that chicken shit god should have done a long time ago, but i was also the chicken shit as well, too. ariadne wept.
i watched the boiling glow of the wicked sun pushing out the blessed darkness through the windows in my kitchen, falling on my face every so often sitting cross legged on the floor amongst the blood and piss and cum splattered throughout the place, the walls decorated with the heads of all my previous victims, each one more difficult to wrestle to their death than the last. i poured myself the last drink of scotch from the bottle before shattering it against the floor and walking barefoot into the living room, the glow of the muted television set blowing up the room.
i ran around naked gathering all the sheets, towels, blankets i could find and armed myself with duct tape, a hammer and a nailgun autographed by the last crucified broken necked surfer child to own the beaches and wow the fans. when the deed was done it was nighttime again and my wings were fashioned out of gold. there was to be no lament for any of the escaped.
with the nailgun i shot out the rest of the artificial lights, shot up the coke. the back of my hands looked like they belonged to a leper. i quarantined myself just to be safe.
and i swear to god, it's not my fault this mask i wear
this gloom i bear
when the man returned i was prepared. "captain!" he said kicking down the door with his boots. "captain captain captain captain!" i donned the warpaint without regard for fashion or falling apart , failing miserably or fun. captain captain captain captain captain captain captain captain we are not alone
walking through the walls he says i'm unarmed he says here! throwing an envelope at my feet and then being still, his arms up in the air without me having to tell him to do so. i come out from behind the couch unashamed.
i don't buy a word of it, i tell him. my brain operates like a burning bridge.
"she's a sinking ship!" he yells over his shoulder, running into the hills and shielding himself beneath the protection of the trees. how i found out about her death was not from the phone calls or the conversations but, sometimes you just know these things. the funeral was nothing like building a house, but it collapsed anyways and an entire generation of christ child's were smothered to death in the rubble. the village never recovered. the newspaper went under and the entire system failed. i managed to survive the riots but things have never been the same. hip to their hypotenuse their geometric ways...