"We've Got A Partial"
(yessss, that's the title.)
Your eyes move continually down
like a cursor that's lost all control,
sifting through miles of blank page and emptiness.
You should take your finger off the enter key, but that's all you know.
Assuming every sentence is complete, you move to the next line
then the next.
then
the
next.
Your finger is as sore as mine are.
Tired like its time to cut the foreplay and plead exhaustion.
But its time for better things.
Take the razor in your fingertips.
Open the tender, scarred flesh of my wrist and drink.
Like those french emo kids that pass for vampires these days.
But only if I can do the same.
You need it as badly as I do.
Turn my blue sheets red and white.
This is the true american flag.
Blood, cum, and bed.
I won't tell if you won't.
Not that you'll feel the need to even speak to anyone else ever again when I'm finished.
It's only me.
Only I can take you to that level.
The one you wouldn't come down from if you could.
The epitome of ecstasy.
The one where fluids flow in and out simultaneously, as they please.
Running rampant like a house flood.
The way the water fills up and consumes whatever is/was important
But you can't help but to feel like its the end of the world,
and celebrate as such.
Let me bleed into you.
Look into my eyes.
itsneverenoughnomatterwhat
itneverends
weshoulddothisagainsometime. |
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