chances are both

taking a fine toothed comb and cleaning the crevices of an ever failing whirlwind of monotony

scrubbing the tile with bleach

hand and knees bleeding on the floor behind me

leaving a crime scene for any would be detective to suss out

is it suicide if you kill the parts of yourself you hate

if you use a razor and etch the words of longing into your skin

too deep and you may sever an artery

deeper still a tendon

deeper than that and you reach that vein of longing that suffuses your being with the intoxicating thought of the one you need

trust me

don’t go that deep

pale scars to remind you of the times long past when anything mattered

a roadmap across my arms and legs of past sin and one night stands

calloused hands grip the box cutter slick with blood

one slip and it’s back to the hospital

the questions the lies the root of the evil screaming soundlessly all through the night

wandering the hallways in search of sustenance

the only thing that satisfies is tales of suffering

the ones that understand where you stand at that exact moment the safe falls from the sky above

the moans of the damned

ecstacy and soft lapping noises as you lick into the gentle folds and find the prize hidden, nestled in the top and softy go round and round it

like a snow cone on these bastardly hot summer days

melting into the seat as you drive too fast down congested highways

everyone looking to get away

to escape the inevitable

each inevitablity worse than the last

hands shaking as you white knuckles the wheel and slam the accelerator to the floor

fuck the brakes

slowing down is giving up

we don’t give up we give in

we don’t give in we have until there is only reflective tape and road closed signs flashing in our peripherals

caution objects may appear closer to truth than they seem

i ignore the warning lights in the dash and turn the stereo up

louder and louder as the fumes from the bleach turns my stomach and the scabs on my knuckles crack

slide open the sun roof and extend a middle finger to whatever mechanical god shat us out and left us to flounder on the shores of the hell

screaming along as darby crash informs the world he is gonna be dead soon

the illegitamate bastard son of rock and roll demons with a shelf life and thirty second odes to going nowhere fast

and you’re all invited

if you’re going my way scrape the quivering chunks of self imposed persecution off the walls and take me with

i’ll break your heart and steal your silverware as you lay in a sweaty mess

tangled in the sheets and clit throbbing from more attention than it has ever received

i’ve got housework to do and if i mix the ammonia and bleach just right it is a helluva trip before you wake up in intensive care

make it fair

scramble a swat team and have them ready for the showdown

i’ll tie one hand behind my back and lash at out them with indignation and gutteral groans

i’m strapped with all the knives i’ve placed in my heart in the absence of you my love

they won’t know if i’m coming or going

chance are both


3 thoughts on “chances are both

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