Selling afterwards out of paper cups. Illegitimate embryos filling my abyss. The bastard child of lust and loneliness. Life a parasite under my grin. As I watch the world feeding their leaches. Petting their ticks. All to prove to themselves they are not the same.
The host and the parasite are interchangeable. Same window. Different view.
The pause in their lunge as they lean in toward. Tells me how long is will last. And exactly what it will mean. The grip of their tongue yields a result I am unable to debate.
It tastes like goodbye. But it smells like tomorrow.
The sequins slowly drop from this gown I call poetry. With each lonely dance. Though we still move as one beneath the lights, its sparkle is withering.
I still wear the costume. What remains of it.
Shovel in a graveyard. Useless without. Useless even if.
Digging. Always digging those tombs. Searching for some buried treasure.
Even if people could change. Why would we?
When we've been ourselves so long. Followed every sequin from breast to floor. Until the last light remitted.
It's only truth playing on our weakness.
He told me I was wrong so many times I almost believed him.
There is no equitable breakdown when yourself is all you have.
Thursday
5/04/2006 09:34:00 PM
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