every time I drink a little more with mademoiselle hate we end in bed and make love till the morning arrive it’s pain scratches my throat my sighs change into roars useless to get scared or repent for such a black night the infection signs getting pumped from my heart they dig holes regurgitate black spleen out of my chest so the next morning
head in my pillow in search for an happy thought “hey, miss black machine gun shoot a song for me in this ratatatata morning I’ll be falling right through” and i do the face painted like a hungun whistling anthems of a lost war a gingerbread man baked with anger a golem a vampire a revenant Face it I’m not free to die and it’s half an hour I’m trying my left hand passing me as a sewing machine a spear runs through my belly that spear is making me live a spear runs through my belly that spear is making me live it halts my fluids from leaking that spear is making me live it helps my back to stand on that spear is making me live Oh bless that spear, it’s spreading all its wooden roots in my fat flashy body, you can see them writhing under my skin, climbing up my lungs up, up, up to my throat, perforate my glands and bloom their black fruits change my voice and the words I’m saying sound as a beast half goat half men speaking of an old flame (all we are saying) is give peace a cancer
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