it rains neon in the middle of our megalopolis raindrops shatter street signs traffic lights holographic ads giant digital ladies stuck within skyscraper walls moving inside with tentative anticipation pouring nonsense through dynamics and blurring away into static once done rain carries the neons throws them at the window separating us from the outside the same way i do
he keeps silently wondering why i throw myself at him with such ferocity every time and i'm not in the mood to explain that if i choose to wait until he decides he deserves doing what he really wants to we'll get stuck in zugzwang waiting forever so i skip to action the same way i always do
the glass beneath my fingers is cold wet slippery the neons crawl inside and i close my eyes to concentrate
he keeps silently wondering why i still need to get so wasted before i skip to action well because if i don't the only thing i'm capable of is joining his zugzwang of not deserving unable to overcome
so the wasted thing on the top floor of the high rise mutters obscenities tearing at our clothes unaware of just how pitiful it must look unlike me and somewhere deep inside somewhere far away i shift into the lotus pose taking a blackberry drag on my fancy smoke watching our mutual heart-rending meltdown out of the corner of my eye liberated from toxicity gnawing away at the everpresent omnipotent manyheaded beast of my shame devilish infinite tremendous monster the main aim of my ceaseless vengeance
/i don't want you to do as i say
i want you to want to do as a say/
and so he does like i say carefully investigates my right arm in search of a decent spot for intrusion the bare needle dimly gleams in the iodine light pouring into the interior of my car from the outside and i absently watch it preying aiming biting invading my system as i tell him a story about Mischa's staffordshire terrier a beautiful specimen with metallic grey tint solid and strong pretty big for a female too which is the reason why she called the dog Life
to be able to say Life's a bitch whenever anyone asks
in reality tonight's weapon of choice provides no rush on itself no kicks in the teeth no ecstatic waves of pleasure nothing like that and the rush in this sense is what followers of this deity call the very change in perspective and a very drastic one at that
and iodine becomes golden and the streetlight dims further leaving nothing on my plate but his werewolvish eyes moonlit-yellow and cold like Pluto ethereal and overwhelming
being frank with myself i am head over heels with his kissing skills and his pale narrow mouth his amazing reptilian fangs and his tongue long and nimble soft yet contrasted by the firm touch of steel of the piercings that aside from the fact that i love kissing itself kissing is fun is a great method to pass the time and the reason i usually avoid long makeout sessions he is so obviously eager to engage in is that it's way too involving and way too exposing it lacks goal unlike sex which redefines the whole process allowing it will enable him to see my dependency naked that's why i usually
usually and the very discovery that i have something to hide is a challenge enough to get us stuck in the car in a makeout session intricate and heartfelt designed exactly to lead to nowhere
to redefine re-stress repossess
having popped my poppies makes me mellow and calm not in a rush an obvious change of pace which is why we indulge in variety after all
to make sure he doesn't get bored in the warm darkness of my car's interior vast enough to contain my 6'8 jötunn of a deity and his sacrifice material of an edgelord meat puppet that he seems to cherish so badly probably due to me representing somewhat of an essence of someone he wanted to be for a while although i can't say for sure at this rate for he is aloof and reclusive as ever both by nature and strategy
staying gentle on top of all that power sure takes a lot of restraint and his glasses get in the way so i pull them off and away leaving him blind to the faces i make and here we are doing it again after a two-month break this feverish spree that strips both of us of last bits of common sense of sense of time of good sense any sense leaving nothing but two animals uglily complicated by past traumas scars metal plates bullet holes exit wounds peeled nerves blunted souls
the fact that i hurt him slips past his awareness just because i prompt him to hurt me in return and his lack of experience provides enough naivety for him to think it isn't intentional
the main problem with 4-Eyes is his tendency to fuck himself over by thinking he's already figured it out when he didn't in fact even get a proper chance yet that common trap of smart people who get overly used to being smart over time spent among sheep and the dead leaves him clueless every time his prediction mismatches the outcome the main problem is that he happens to love being clueless cos it provides a nice change
that simple formula is my binding incantation he is childishly unaware of with his critical thinking 4-eyed explanations firm logic as poor defense against madness
whenever i'm hungry
and he can't help laughing when i pronounce myself hungry in the middle of that heated argument between our bodyparts the same way i usually do cos i end up hungry in any circumstances hunger is my blessing hunger is my curse hungry is my safeword