Do you shiver before you wake?
I think I saw a premonition
a swarm of cicadas, erupting from my bowels
like glimmering guts squeezed out trough a meat mincer
I think we don’t have a lot of time.
Stumbling newborns trying to outgrow their cosmic cradle,
now dangling in a net of stellar intestines,
where the gift of self consciousness became our worst nightmare
I think that I, too, am too much meat
and not enough self-analytic thought
a respected artist will starve himself,
but I prefer to eat
I actually do believe violence can be resolved with more violence
and I don’t believe in soulmates
(some days, god forbid, I don’t even believe in souls)
I hate only because I’m full of love.
I have learnt to expect the worst, yet,
the world disappoints me again and again,
like a lover who can’t stop fucking the neighbor
I keep giving it another chance,
Not because I’m so goddamn merciful, mind you, but let’s be honest,
where else would I go?
I stuff my throat with spun glass until I can’t feel the words spilling out
And just when I think I’ve reached that point of sensorial nirvana,
I wake up with a headache, a new cognitive STD and a renewed will to fight
I think there’s an olive-skinned girl sweating inside of me
I beat her up every night, trying to reforge her into a weapon,
then wake up with the hammer next to my pillow,
and wads of what-could-have-been splattered over the floor,
I weep and point fingers, appointing others the blame
You, Sir! You are a fucking asshole and that really stresses me out!
I know I am what they call “good at bad”.
But my beauty is not in the deterioration,
not in the nights spent swallowing scissor blades and oh lord why me:s,
but in how I show up again the next morning, staggering because of the teethed wounds on my hips,
chug a galleon of java and demand a rematch
I don’t think there’s another way to say