Death, an incurable miracle. A fortunate event for a troubled soul.
I appreciated the man he was. Slow in motion, yet sharp in thoughts. His words would always come to rescue, his words would always spell my name. I remember those days. The altitude was 4 and rising, we were above the clouds. He always feared me gazing down from his cockpit filled with a jungle of flowers. I waved to the ants that were my parents and quickly made a run for the chess table awaiting. He was upset with the phone, sometimes even flamed it, before returning to his nephew that cheated his way into defeat. His biggest disappointment came with my legs growing long. We placed a bet when I was five, by twenty he didn’t make it. I began ignoring him plenty before, I thought that I grew up, yet here I stand with a beat up face, wishing that I was still young. I’ll be twenty in half a year with the bet still on the table, and even though I want to win I think I’ll be unable. I’ll let you win one last time.
She’s wearing clouds of fire tonight. Snow White’s curse in her hands, wings of desire under her feet. Her hair is falling from the blood lust, it’s her usual cleanse. There’s a tune in the way she sings though, sounds like a silent roar. A female equivalent of my subconscious. She blames me for the blunders of life. At times it’s a frost-bound hammer,at times it’s a killer’s lullaby. Silenzio. The darkness is shadowed by the light. The morning is complete. She arrived. Her body creates mists of death, it lures in the young pirate starving for treasure. Her bosom being gold, her words pouring like rum. Blindly he follows the oiled skin through the broken terrain, yet he was born on sea and still swam on dirt. He’s unsatisfied, in need for more. It’s the tune again, repeating the horrors of the ocean. Inexperienced and foolish. Her body melts into poisonous mud and he mistaken’s it for natural beauty. He wants to forget the memories already lost, he’s in search for new ones that’ll never exist. Nephila‘s weawing the galaxy’s edge. Her dress turns into tears of lightning, it’s ripping itself apart. It’s not kind on the eye. Hate. Anger. Colors of indifference for a frame hosting a cobweb. He left himself open for the horrors of the mating season. It turns out, the lap dancer was just another spider patrolling the dusty neighborhood of my cobwebs. She wore golden words on her lips, silk underwear covering the not so confidential stories underneath, her profile could not hide the prodigy she was. She never lost a war. Not until now. Exterminated.
There’s a silent satisfaction behind her hungry sight tonight. She’s not dressed to love me, nor to hate me. The eyes are getting heavier, she’s a mystery. Red dress to impress me, I confront her aspect. It’s the end of my survey of her body tonight. Curtains red. Burned down. You could nearly say it’s the entrance of the night assassin, you could nearly try to kill me soft. High heels. Black. Burned up blood. Fire. You are sitting in the corner with your coat piled high, lacy underwear and naked body, it’s the sweet spot, you could be my baby. Begging for my un-threatened life is what got you high on a daily basis. Loose lingerie. Pin-pointed act. Cigarettes are merely for the artistic impression. A feature that rose on your seduction. There’s a request I might regret, collarbone-smoke in my hands, painting words on the back of your lips. Swallowed. Devoured. Inhaled. Absorbed. I’m a man of many identities, a nobody in reality. A static sound in the TV. A static sound inside your gut. A necessity of the world, an expandable figure. The death of the artist creates the anthem of life. I will forever resurrect the horrors of your love. Nonexistent. Superficial. Hollow.
Cigarette perfume and alcoholic dress. A face you cannot forget, naked idiocy, dressed intelligence. Minimalist breasts covered in invisibility, short legs drunk on high altitude. She’s a moonchild, a rock in the universe and a rock on my heart. Not even the bottom of the ocean can crush her, cause she controls the tides. I’m keeping my distance. She’s wet, I light her cigarette, pour some of my internal wine in her chest. For a second she grows glasses on her eyelashes, sober thoughts, naked intelligence and a floral perfume. For a second. Her worst mood burned up all my blood. Stargirl was her alter ego, a dark philosophy, she likes everybody by their size. Their size in blood and veins, because like a vampire, she got drunk on life essence. A female Dracula without the Italian accent caged me in my own emotions. Her highness reserved me for her own satisfaction. She touches my neck after I touch hers, engaging in a goose-bump homecoming. I was losing my mind when she showed me how the night was supposed to sound. I came to make love to one another, she sent me death in a sunset color. Run for cover.
Red socks. Violet soul. Predator nails and violent thoughts. Laces around her oiled skin. Bruises around her soft breasts. Bite marks made by herself, she’s wild, you’re in her cage. It’s half past five, you’re waiting for a chance to get frozen by her heart. It’s your blood on her artistic walls you’re staring at. It’s your hand on her uncovered tail. She’s dancing with one red sock on her hand and your cry for help, under her feet. She’s aggressive. She doesn’t digest rigidity. There’s another man. It’s dark, but he was able to escape her eyes, not her glamour. He’s free. Free for skin, free for heart, free for soul. She’s playing with his remains. I’m next to die from her acidic sexuality. I’m a toy. A resource. She likes exploiting her pray. I glide down on her painful ribs, untying her laces, her softness. Unleashing the freak she is. To tribute a finger for each spasm I create, extended my life spawn. She begins suffocating me with her beauty. Beating me with her darkness. Torturing me with her mystery. She’s on all four and I still have fingers left downstairs. It’s a ritual for death, that I adored. Slow, but a one way adventure. She bought a Vinyl for each breath of death she collected. Soon, I will walk on her sunshine that doesn’t show at daylight. I fell in love, I pushed her face to the wall. Her tail was exposed. I was painting her walls yet again. Draining my desires into her. Are you mine?
My face hurts from the dropping graces,
There are raindrops kissing my face at noon,
I never thought I’d see an angelic face burning down my darkness.
There are many masks before those faces,
The isolated light flirts with my tune,
The rainbow of misfortune loves to circle around mystical Paris.
Flowers bloom and tension races,
Can this girl poison her natural moon?
She escaped the angry nature wiping down her honey tears tonight.
Dreaming of cosmical spaces,
Picturing to visit Jupiter in June,
Getting lost in the blankness of his soul enhances her monstrosity.
… And it creates mine.
―Can I be your gardener?
– He already offered me his flowers.
―My roots are more beautiful, colorful, meaningful.
-His flowers are gold, it’s a silver lining.
―Can he dance? Can he sing you to sleep?
-He doesn’t make me cry, he doesn’t treat me cheap.
―My skin is drought, where are you my rain?
-Your shame is sunburn.
―Take a turn, call my name.
-Goodbye, to the not so beautiful sunrise.
―I still have the moon. It doesn’t talk, but it cries.
― Hazel petals, long lost nights.
– Pirouettes and private lights.
― I can’t forgive you.
– He makes me happy. He doesn’t treat me like a prize.
―I’m a flower in your zoo.