Dream Walking Savage. Stillness sickness

She stroked the fixation fervently.   Racked my spinal column with thirst, crucifixion.   I shelter from the rain with a coma-sleep.   Churning excitement, contagiously plastering the beat of our palpations, sweat rolled off my lips and onto hers.   Quick kisses down her back and mine.  Intertwined like the staff of Mercury, seeking the seekers.  The second hand smoke shaking away the leaves, decay.   Trays of extinct neon pulp sanctioned by that saddening look in her eyes, memories coat the line down your back.   I traced your body, three-dimensional drawings.  Emotional cubism, we took our theories to work and ran with them.  Rain soaked the windshield as your tears lubricated the fuses spouting magic.  Rewired madness.   We are youth.  Growing younger and younger as the dust collects around us.   Electric stimuli.  Marred by the denial, as they clip our wings one by one.  If I am next then so are you and vice versa.   I will not control myself any longer.  I will not waver from the vacuous sunken dead-end eyes of evil.   If you do not knock down the newly caked mausoleum of distraction, you are helping its construction, however in avertently . I strike at the keystone of the tower of Babel.    Ignorance.  Let the fallen leaders of the evil empire disperse.   Breathe in the Prana

Our rebuttal rips pages from the hangman’s book.  Prying them from his squirmy, thick maggot-like fingers. Eyelids turn heavy from the slaughterhouse café poetry readings.  The salt-encrusted, dryness, wryly entangles us.  Close your dead eyes and see!  We walked down the colonial zone.   Eyes floated, glaring, affixed to the stone speckled ground.  Our paths cross and straighten.  My hand searches for hers.  She speaks, dictating content and context.    Detachment and suffocation cut the fibers of my skin in an attempt to disconnect the multitudes from the blue life force.

A subtle chance to look her straight in the eyes will soon collapse.  What am I looking for when they say such things?  She dressed my wound with a cut Aloe Vera piece.    I shot up and compounded the weight of guilt and shame.   I asked her once if she’d look for me in the other life but the notion of love merely rustled a dull bladed attack on my heart.

If I gaze upon the stars it is me I am seeing.   Gigantic and open, always wanting to feel the touch of her soft artistic fingers, the galaxy is merely a network of information.   I imagine unkempt nails from months ago from when we first plotted out a course towards perpetual summers.

They say speak freely and yet they mean watch your tongues.  They say sharpen your teeth yet they mean slaughter my bloodline.  A mental coup d’ grace. We are to busy being hypophobic: by both fearing and lusting after a blade fashioned by pseudo greed, hyper sex, and golden shards defended by slight of hand.  Our enemy merely scathes the surface of universal bodies.  For they would have us slaves to carry that very blade which gives this evil its strength.   Colonialization of the mind.  I suffer at the hands of those words, droplets of alienation.  Brooding rebels, embittered by false-prophetic synthesis, fearing not death as we tread fluidly through the graven minds, permits us everything.   The cornered eyes of prey will soon fashion shivs of nonparticipation. We must arm ourselves to the teeth and nail, with nonconformity.

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