Bring in the buzz, and the death too
at the foot of our homes
swimming knives
merry whores
lift my dress up
pray Buddha pray
beads roll under your thumb
like chanting bellybuttons
hammering
gauging
love
Y?
Kill the buzz, and the death too

He was
a melancholic wave
handsome
in a silver-green night
his fingers pressed joy upon
lips and expiring pineapple cans,
imprinting eternity and warmth.
Street lights, shadow worries
and steaming breathes twisted threads
of his existence
only the wind hurled a “hello, I want to hug your bones”

Uninvited like a brick lying on a seabed
Hole-heartedly wasting away
never minding god and men,
mulling over fishes’ easy swims in dirty water

Dear friend,

I think you’re a sick joke from mother earth, and meeting you was my loss.
From now on, I shall endeavour to forget about your very insipid existence. But before I do, I wish you’d crawl back to your poor mother and seek her forgiveness. She shouldn’t be blamed for the monster you are. On hindsight I am sure she would have turned prochoice on you, hurling your satanic ass in a limbo. Then again the demon lord must have his dues, and you are it.

That said, if you must be a bitch of darkness at least put some effort in it. Do not just work a shady corner. Go global, go genocidal. Have a vision or something. That is my last advice as a friend. 

At least when you finally land in hell, you will be able to proudly say ” I have done fantastic work for you!” Maybe then will your master let you sweep Hitler’s ashes from the grimy bathroom floor while he unleashes his horde of minions upon you. Do not get all coy, let them enjoy your suffering as they showcase their craftmanship to you. I am sure their creativity will literaly blow your mind. Let the next fiend do the cleanup! 

I am sure down the ammonic hole, there will be enough cannibals more than willing to feast upon your splattered brain. Perhaps Idi Amin will do you the honor. At any rate, they will all have their turn as you explore together the meaning behind words like eternity and despair.

That being said, I will waste no further time on you, or keep you from your vile plans. I wish you nothing, but the worst. Do not keep in touch. I look forward to not hearing from you again. Kindly disappear. 

Sincerely, 
Go to Hell              

Sally squanders bits of youth on the dance floor
like a tit in a trance, boogying towards death without resistance,
her body quivers and twitches in a lovely meaningless despair,
she is digging for truth. Intangible and eternal.
Her beauty is in the moment; a transient luminiscent energy firing up her atoms in an electric storm. 
    

Last night, a god dreamt about me,
and I saw myself in the flow of his dream.
Amidst the vortex of  thunderous thoughts,
the eye of creation  was ever watchful.
It was a moment of intense gratification and heightned love,
for this sublime higher being had a spot for me in his consciousness.
I was the  red wine stain on the cosmos’s wedding gown.
The universe was festive and I was bold and depraved,
wildly engulfing myself in the brightest stream of light.
I had not a care. I was a mere fabrication,
thereby disengaged from any morale obligations.
Far from the grasp of gravity and
the vicissitudes of a life rooted in a consensual reality,
i stemmed from the dream instead and 
bloomed in vivid space.
I was
Aghast-marasmic
no
more.   

                        

You leave me alone in your apartment, 
 I feel dented, swindled, and hanged up like the abstract painting on your wall.  
 I wrap your white bed sheet around my neck , it holds better than your words… when you pretend to see Me as larger than life; you’re so snug ego-boosting me, and like an ailing puppy I need you. 
I fidget from wall to wall wearing your leather shoes and your tshirt, big enough to get lost in and forget that I am who I hate the most… 

I am wearing a suit today.
I have hidden my tits inside this prim blouse as if to say ” I will not f$$k my way up.” I am a professional. My foot is inside the door, I am cut-throat. Look out. I discarded my soul a long time ago along with my college boyfriend; the sanctimonious sod.
I was raised by a feminist when feminists weren’t  simply thought of as lesbians( bless them), ugly loud men-hating frigid bitches.  There was a time when feminists were women seeking a fair and better place under the sun. Today, even half naked skeletal creatures call themselves feminists eventhough they have relinquished their brainpower and conformed to a distorted image of what a woman is supposed to be. I am no exception; I have assessed myself by counting all the body parts at their market value ( my ass is moderately tight, my face palatable, my brain fully functional but the extra pounds, the somewhat sizable breasts, and the average height are a deal breaker) . My brain as my only asset, I have optimized, kept my feminity under tabs and let my soul go. Now, I am a successful career woman. My name is modernlady, I am a feminist failure, and a kickass cunt. Bite me.               

For the first time I really wanted to be alive, and so I was alive jumping up on my bed on a terrible rock song I said to myself the universe and the burning chaos ” let me stay alive.” 
It was beautiful pain and I was afraid of feeling it and losing it, the glow my feet on the ground, and all surfacing realities. And so I called my mother and said ” I died today,” she cried a soft cry. The wound was already there, I won’t seek forgiveness.
From my parents I was born, without intentions of gentleness or devotion. I took and took without merit or malice. They were gods and I was a restless child.
I was born, but never really alive.  And now that I am finally alive, I feel like I am dying for the first time.  

spring’s breath,
on my old wounds, flowers bud
branches lean
seeded clouds my roots shower
but the desiccate feeling lingers
thrusting me further into the ground
selfish love green green again
la mauvaise vie a ses charmes
under this new skin
the sap crystallizes
leaves fall
at the mercy of a season,
a soil, and
a sky too singular.

The little sexy bee glances and averts
her brown eyes in measured shiness-
her skin bounces honeyed light,
and we feel moth
drifting in a hot midsummer night.        

What time collects may be a trivial dissection of my erratic life- but there is no coincidence to the second or to the leaching misery it disburses- stingy and slow- that I may not even scream a havoc or claim outlandish horror. 
Sum up the hours and bear the loathsome sight- the big picture is a crash scene. Count and check if we can assess and gather our lives under a same disheartening label; a human experience ?
Heaven or hell who cares? The worm is a coming, yet all I can do is eat my boots and the laces too. I should have just latched onto the void of inexistence, but nobody said it was going to be this way…