scotchdid it pleasure you when you penetrated me?
piercing deep within my flesh and my being
exploiting my weakness of mortality;
upon my spine how the warmth did soak
muscles tensing, breath quickening,
the pleasure of knowing -- the pleasure of knowing;
the pleasure of knowing.
between my shoulder blades where tissues and canals lie,
you severed my ability for mobility with metal nails
wielding, unsheathing, merciless, indifferent.
Logic demands that i should grow my own wings
and simply fly away.
that swirls in your brain like scotch on the rocks,
bronze hope that intoxicates and spills upon your lips.
but when spoken it's simply vomit that stains.
Bleed. me. dry.
leave it to my stupidity that i am left with a rotting carcass
for a shell.
Diseased, sagging, deterioating fibers that cling to a skeleton.
The stench of wasted means and ends,
but who would've known it would end this way?
Who would've know that life's pleasures would bring such pain?
it's the pleasure of knowing.
PerfectVincent lives in a colorless world. His body parts have been slowly failing him one by one since the accident. His wife and his ten month old daughter were in the car with him when the incident occured. After a perfect vacation camping, Vincent was driving his perfect family back to their perfect house that resided in the picture perfect mountains. Perhaps he took the turn too fast or perhaos he just wasn't paying attention; however, whatever it was, his perfect life was thrown off the side of the mountain with the aide of another car that decided not to stay to witness the perfection it had destroyed.
Luckily, all three survived. (at the time at least) Unluckily, all three of their lives had been ruined.
Vincent was a renowned pianist. When he played his passion dripped out of his fingertips that knew speed, precision, and beauty. His fingers were short. Simple. But deft.
red wineit's the red wine swirling in my plastic cup.
sleeping pills crushed into dust - sprinkled through my hair.
the scent of your flesh imprinted in my mind,
the warm sunlight that shines through the night.
it's all lost now, let go.
you are all too alive
and i am all too dead in your eyes.
your touch upon my face...
how i would savor every ridge of your fingerprint
as they ran across my lips.
wedged in the crevices of my mind,
how am i supposed to dig you out?
feigned apathy is all i have left
and hopefully you will be able to see through:
this feeble shovel will never get rid of you.
inhale the dust in my hair.
it's the only thing that makes time pass by.