Streams

It felt so sudden, the way the eyes went back like a saint, and black like an Addams. I feel lucky to be alive at such times, all of the maneuvers you learned to make with your car, all of the times you cry to sick cunts. I get it that this is not what I thought I’d have by now, but it’s what I have. Little you, stringy earphones — green — and new sheets — green — . When you came to compensate for the missing alcohol with diamonds, I could only accept. I’m made of little dust, me. Little creepy thing roaming around rooms made for kings and mistresses. You are my king. Bald, larger than life, swaying and swearing against that bloody mosquito that dared to bother you. Lonely nightly saint, I’m the Myrwatch Martyr. I am the power and the energy. Alchemist of my own death, and so be it! Cry! Cry when you see me transmute into another, cry when I’m water, finally shapeless, finally hairless, finally concave and convex, sneaking in, slippery and slitherin’. Fuck, I’d enter through every keyhole, every palace. I’ll burst out of fountains and hope darkly for your open, thirsty lips.