Wednesday, May 30, 2012

human suffering 25.7

She accuses me of being bourgeoisie with the napalm. I walk around the room naked, breathing in her smoke. On the kitchen table there is a sword and a bottle of red wine. Tonya is humming something from the Ramones. A slow piano melody plays in the background; it is like someone forgot to turn it off. Searching for the right chords to help us find our way among the illusions. We need a new life, a new direction. We are leaving the mines and feeling a little bit sick. You were so shiny and new. We are surrounded by a sea of houses. The smoke rings break apart and turn into small demonic fingers. They point at you and I, accusingly. It is as if they know of the great evil that we committed against god and man. You are always sitting next to me, smiling approvingly. We speak a language between each other without words. I have started the self-destruct sequence. Let’s just press the reset button. You have been stealing from the graves again. Someone had told me this as I stopped to buy a paper. You said you were only breaking even. I’m sleeping in your house with one eye open. Tonya has fallen down and I helped her up. I tied her close to my waist as she wrestled with the parachute. We placed the knots so carefully over you and we called in the ghost. We picked up your disorder from the store. It looked so new and gorgeous. We took the gun and held it to your head.

No comments:

Post a Comment