Dying like a rose. Cold water, peripheral. Penetrate my skull. Seduced by rogue syllables. A regime of pleasure dances on my tongue. Death is ephemeral like dew. A melodrama flashing in my head. Perfect, like the smell of sex. The best kind of catharsis. I remember the gorgeous stink of autumn. Wise colours, sunlight soap. Textile, tobacco. Possessed by drunk, moonlit kisses. This is exactly what I want.
Bells raining idle solitude. Reality glitters on my techno wounds. A paradox tilled. My mind unfulfilled. Time is suspended like ice crystals. On that white horizon the blood of the dream juts back and forth. Beckon, the fruitful distance. Time, flowering. Jasmine by the dusk. Bramble. Waltz. Our nature is steadfast. Love like it does not exist. A perfect day when the camera flashes. I look back at old photos of us, craving a peaceful song. Unstrung from invisible atoms, mountains. Observing accidents. A mouth, a melody. Marginal with every coincidence. The heart is a poet. Glimmering bijouterie with no happy ending.
We are suicidal jay-walkers, hypnotised by the brushstrokes we make. Bulldozing the glory that remains. Echoes of wanderlust, apathy, nights of debauchery. Dirty boys craving ecstasy. Jealous of our jealousies. Illustrating our ethnic culture in neon colours. Wasted years, contemplating. Sinners in the dark, burning with a glorious reputation. Feeling like we are running out of time. Romantic at twilight. In a world of clowns and gentlemen, I want to be yours. Your swan song. My masterpiece. The danger in your eyes excites me. It makes me feel like I am on the edge of the world, wrapped in your shell. Psychedelic bliss with every icebreaker. Kissing goodbye to every sunset.