Those hands pluck the violent guitar strings. And I, black, drunk, swerve my hips in rhythm to the beats. Heads roll on the floor, blood dips in and dies and dips in. I want to hear that fucking pound, the noise of my existence. Beat it out of me, hit me with your wards. Feet gulps in air, takes the burn on crashing. Take the cash, give me pain. Ether.
Memories that aren't mine fuse into the greyholes. Words that don't exist make way into the spellbooks. Hands sway amidst the pollution. Once, those pair of eyes lured my being. Tonight, Gandhi comes to the rescue. Drooping nipples cry in fervor, devoid of soft pressure. Hunger repressed, satisfied. Dilated, elated. Vision is interrupted and flickering. Too much air. Hands clutch onto them, eat it fool! Grasp more. Stop gasping and bite.
I can see the skies.
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