To Brian...

That vacancy tugging omni-directional begging me to fill it...

Some delicacy with maggot lips and a shotgun tongue ruminating with neon delight, candyfloss brains shriveling in the cold of choked up clouds, dilapidated veins sucked dry blanketed with carrion, that vapid drained river of a vein, that ganges of addiction squirming around like some dancing cartoon avoiding bullets, avoiding that needle prodding its lifeless tube of disaffection...

A charred volcano of cocaine infection reaches upwards from the ecstatic entrance of his peach forearm and the eyes sit back in the fleshless hollowness of a marble skull...

Give me that you despicable wretch!
Insufflations and then a resurrection of a dragon studded with emeralds and stars slithering across the cerulean firmament. He turns. He tosses me a parabolic smile but I can't seem to understand...

I will not understand.

'Under the Pink'

...sitting in my room pouring saline from eyes like water from a thundercloud lacking the terrifying thunder to shake the world and the blinding flash of light meant to dazzle the watcher no you don't dazzle you depress with your salt and your water and your mascara running black down your face smeared upon cheek and chin and nose and ears and clinging to your hair like a drowning rat to his sinking plank in seas he never should have frequented in the first place ...


"Sadness? It is a word too freely flung about
from the ignorant mouths of those who do not know
what it is like to be haunted by a freezing, torturous gale,
and to be forced to hold the withered hand of eternal pain.
Where Nothing symbolizes Anything..."
- The Psychology of Demons and the Bitterness of Winter, Scholomance.

Letter to self:

(And after these messages, we'll be (b)right b(l)ack.)

This, is your brain on drugs...
and this is me with my microscope slicing your brain into bite-size pieces
because it's easier to swallow and it's easier to follow than the twisted plot scrawled between the pages of a diary that you slipped under your mattress because hell, you like to think you can't feel it..
i sneak into your mind when nobody's looking, least of all you still in bed half-dressed hair intangled and breathing softly in that typical twentytwo-year-old-quicksand way
and when i look at you i feel like the sun's in my eyes
carving your loneliness into thin lines that match the tracks on your
f(a)vo(r)ite albu(ms)...
re-arranging each skillfully extracted word into a poem you're not going like into
song-lyrics you would never repeat in front of anyone, especially the mirror...

...and they say the draught's gonna break any day now but your sheets are so drenched with sweat a sleepless night feels more like drowning than a dry-spell.

I''m just trying to show you there's something to this...,
like there are some shirts you just don't wash because the stains are the best part.

I need to prick my finger and write because I need to tell you it's safe to come out now and I can't think of another way.... then, gluing each piece down in a different place i lay the worn book on your pillow and stare down into your unflinching face.
Suddenly you blink and I hear something slide down my imaginary roof....the first fat raindrop soaking cold and impatiently into you I watch you rip the plug out of the wall and that melancholy cd skips to a halt.

Running to your window you part your lips as lightning strikes and I wring my hands, desperate to touch you but thinking better of it as you stand there watching the seething sun cry
and whispering,
'This, is my brain on drugs...'

A rediscovered 4 day blog....
http://pedomorphic.blogspot.com

Emblazoned across his ivory neck rising to an exquisite face of blushing veins and light mocha ponderings.

I was obliged to obey.

He moaned out at first contact, before the pressure truly began, he shuddered at the contact of bone on flesh, a shudder as my warm breath hit, smothering in circles of open lips, a shudder as my tongue tip pressed gently against his skin as if guiding my bite, as if to taste what might be beneath.

I noticed his eyes closed, muscles tense, his wrinkled forehead and nose and face.
I ignored.

I began to bite down, to truly bite down, slowly. I could feel my incisors slicing their way into his neck, puncturing the softness and inserting something too solid. I felt my jaws tighten at top and bottom, felt the applied pressure as his skin folded and moved and squirmed beneath my kiss. I felt his body begin to shake from the pain, shake from the shock, shake from the bone being driven through his skin.

It didn't take long to break through the ivory and draw blood. Nothing can compare to his blood, thick and dark red and not too sweet. I felt it flowing into my mouth, over my tongue, around my teeth, down my chin, down his arched neck. I followed the trail of sanguine with my tongue...The blood felt warm in me, my mouth, it felt good.

One can only be satisfied by a lovers blood and a lovers bite.

I want to create a beautiful scar today.
Slice your skin with no remorse. I shall use a sharpened knife and that belongs to me and cherish it forever. I want to drink your rushing blood, swallow it mercilessly, throw my head back and smile at thunderstruck skies with closed eyes...
Ill consume the pain that escapes from your perfect skin and relish the look of fear on your face. Ill ruin your flesh and take pleasure in your almost undying pain due to this selfish cruelty that I've inflicted on you and every precious memory of it. I want to taste you and have the bitter liquid that runs through your heart become a part of a tongue that craves.
Yes, I want to create a beautiful scar today and feel proud of my art for a lifetime.
- 5:27pm - 05/12/05