Taste
How I feel, deep within . . .
Preachers, and prophets, push truth like drugs.
My mind feels gross like slimy slugs.
I'm confused, and used, so used,
so, can't I sleep forever tonight?
I'm too tired tonight,
and I've fucked up again.
Desire over chastity,
I don't think Anne of Avonlea ever had it so hard.
I'd like to rip the world in two, and watch the miles-thick pavement tear my nails up unrecognizable.
God, how that would make me smile.
The moon is lost tonight, behind a veneer of apathy,
and a bouffant of beauty
seems an illusion away.
Magic has left the world now,
and capital is our friend,
if a 'friend' is what it can be called.
Man has won,
and so the gift to rip the world in two, and walk in a form of blood, and pavement,
and eat the blasphemers,
would be a consolation,
some consolation.
'Reality' has won, they say.
Its name is addiction,
and obsession,
and love.
Better to be the monster,
to live in control,
without suffering,
I may think, than to suffer needless in empty laughter,
may not be easier,
but might be the greatest salvation,
for me?
Yes.