Note:My mind on a dead binge. American Gov't class, senior year in high school, good times. Repeat.


Just give me those restless bodies to hold, lifeless between my lonely fingers. Cold and so pleasantly smooth to me, the half-grinning smiles, and French kisses without tongue. Just take me to the deepest grave. Oh, I'll be so happy there with people as empty as I am. My father made it to that grave, forever locked and nailed by his own ambition, by his own imaginary pestilence. And as I was brought up, so shall I succumb, by choice, to that empty grave with so many long dead.

If only it hadn't been as so I wish. The bitter life I lead now might have after all been bittersweet. Alas it is nothing more than burnt wood, forest slashed-and-burned, and earth hallowed, and sulfur spread.

*Just give me those elegant restless bodies, lifeless between my lonely fingers. Cold and so pleasantly smooth to me, the dilapidated skin and bone. Those half-grinning smiles and French kisses without tongue I do wish.

And just set me down with the rest of them. If not inside the earth, then out and above it. Fashion me a mausoleum, sliding granite that burns the drapery from their bodies so that, like a rodent with next I can burrow deep.

Anywhere I may be as long as I can feel my silent companions. My faithful, if not fashionably late servants, comrades, and lovers. Bound in mortal bondage, and tied thrice too many times with debauchery. This is what those brilliant minds succumb to, effortless love and devotion for a soul that they haven't the life to see.

Their wedding dresses torn, and tuxedo's dusted with fine earth tones (David). These are the garments that tempt even after the miserable attempt at life. Not in sticky ambition, but blissful after thought and partner.

And these are the faithful, and those are the only friends I might have. Oh and these beautiful things, so fine with rest and abandonment, bring shameful tears to mine eyes whenever I think of the