Special K'

Into my lungs I introduce you along with the smoke

With the second bottle of wine I raise my glass and suggest a toast to your hands

I want to confine you inside myself

I want to confine you inside my veins and my brain

I want you to swim through the constellations of my atoms

I want to trust that you will reach where no one else ever will

My soul envious of my body caressed with your fingers

My body envious when you shamelessly steal my thoughts

My soul thrown onto the wall heard two unspoken words

/”you’re mine…”/

I quietly contemplate the dramaturgy of our porn-tale. Egotistically infatuated in our own reflections, in squinting with pleasure eyes, we battle for power over soul and body, egotistically. This war leaves no time for taking prisoners, we have so little life left after all, there's only 60 more years of fear of failure and defeat, we can’t let ourselves be neglectful even for a moment. Plans and strategies targeting one and only point, a point of exclusively possessing the opposed side, authority over their fate, subtly holding the hair when the face, tread into the mud of one's ideals, humbly accepts the probability of eternal chaos and emptiness camouflaged under a cosy blanket lined with venomous tenderness.

Yes, my love. I will prepare you the blood soup. Ah, what the hell, let me dance! I will prepare you a soup made with my own blood, hey, after all, I still have so much left. Let’s forget that which already drained with a deplorably maroon stream, vanishing in an outflow of the sterile-white shower. Cover my eyes with your open hand and allow me to see into the future, gaze upon an entirely new, fresh battlefield waiting for the entirely new, fresh blood that is appearing on the horizon. And as we stand on it, facing each other, you clenching your fists imperiously with that affable, son-of-a-bitch smile, myself deprived of shame, sinking my nails into my own arms, biting my own lip until it bleeds, I will only ask one thing of you - spare my wrists, my wrists are very dear to me, you must have felt it when you kissed them, when they throbbed steadily under the oppression of your hollywood-perfect teeth, you will spare them, won’t you, please tell me you will spare them…

Oh, my love, why the sad face, I still have 15,139m² of skin which you can defile with your touch filled with demented love. Cut, my dearest, carve in words, unequal patterns and formless manifestations of your thoughts, cut until, from between howling with despair tissues forced into separation, naked flesh will smile at you gleamingly and welcome you fondly with a scent of decay, my sweet prince, dying for you is like rotting with delight! Let me light up a cigarette, I always do after multiple, sense-eclipsing orgasms.