Truth, just my seductive
yet elusive prey,
trust, yes,
what an ever-fleeting
phantom.
With love so wild and true
to exceed the threshold
of the most ravenous
of masochists;
with sex hot enough to burn
right through to the bare,
pasty-white bones of the soul;
with endless landscapes on
my subtle skin chock full of pockmarks
from blisters from lifetimes
of being rubbed the wrong way,
with eyes that have been
opened so wide they are ringed
in halos of stretchmarks
that would rival the bliss-well
of a Blue Whale's mistress,
I've received more
than I could have ever asked for,
yet I want more, and I'm sure
to get it.
Shame, there's not
a goddamn thing
you can hope to do about it.
So knock yourself out,
motherfucker.
Go ahead.
Close the casket, drive in another nail,
will not much as phase me.
I've adapted to the darkness.
I no longer fear the emptiness
for I've mastered the art of tapping
zero-point space.
So pull the veil over my eyes again.
Go ahead, see if I care.
Just so happens I could use another canvas
to paint upon
with blood, sweat,
all the shit of the world,
tears of sorrow
as well as from straining
contractions of maddening
laughter.
I'm impervious
to your bottomless
sack of platitudes.
I'll trace the emotional silhouette
discernible through the fabric
to salvage the essence.
The will to overcome a restless resistance
is never short on fuel.
So you cannot win without losing,
for I am triumphant either way.
yet elusive prey,
trust, yes,
what an ever-fleeting
phantom.
With love so wild and true
to exceed the threshold
of the most ravenous
of masochists;
with sex hot enough to burn
right through to the bare,
pasty-white bones of the soul;
with endless landscapes on
my subtle skin chock full of pockmarks
from blisters from lifetimes
of being rubbed the wrong way,
with eyes that have been
opened so wide they are ringed
in halos of stretchmarks
that would rival the bliss-well
of a Blue Whale's mistress,
I've received more
than I could have ever asked for,
yet I want more, and I'm sure
to get it.
Shame, there's not
a goddamn thing
you can hope to do about it.
So knock yourself out,
motherfucker.
Go ahead.
Close the casket, drive in another nail,
will not much as phase me.
I've adapted to the darkness.
I no longer fear the emptiness
for I've mastered the art of tapping
zero-point space.
So pull the veil over my eyes again.
Go ahead, see if I care.
Just so happens I could use another canvas
to paint upon
with blood, sweat,
all the shit of the world,
tears of sorrow
as well as from straining
contractions of maddening
laughter.
I'm impervious
to your bottomless
sack of platitudes.
I'll trace the emotional silhouette
discernible through the fabric
to salvage the essence.
The will to overcome a restless resistance
is never short on fuel.
So you cannot win without losing,
for I am triumphant either way.
