Everything about her was wrong. Which made her just right for my purposes.

Check her out: she lives in a crooked apartment building at the end of a long, crooked street. She’s in room 1313, or maybe it’s 666. One of those silly, ominous numbers you’d expect to see scrawled in the margins of some high school kid’s mathematics notebook.

She’s broken like fine China, and maybe she’s Asian, too, like common everyday China. Maybe she’s got slanted eyes, maybe she speaks a language that sounds like babbling birds in my ears, but mostly likely, all I’m interested in is the slit that sleeps under her skirt.

She’s fucking crazy. She thinks she can hear the airplanes flying silently overhead. She thinks she can hear satellites spinning in space. She thinks she’s going to be born-again, bullet-proof and laser-emitting. High Frequency Fuckery, that’s what she’s all about. 

You’re not going to talk me out of it, you’re going to dissuade me from my course of action. I’m as certain as a suicide now, one who’s already pulled the trigger, swallowed the pills, and thrown himself off the highest surface he could find.

A cliff, deep in the woods, overlooking the sea.
A building downtown, like a shiny silver icon of capitalist need.

But I fall down to Earth like a bombblast trapped in an all-too-mortal frame. That’s what they never understood about me.

Sure.

Sure, I’m falling.

But I land like lightning.
Right in the palms of your hands.

I rode into her life on a dragon. Y’know what I mean? 

I came in all blustering, breathing fire and burning up knights. I came in like something great and magical and ancient, with the power to blot out the sky, and drain the oceans in a single swallow. 

It was like a motorcycle made of living metals. It was like a swarm of crimson-coloured locusts, as beautiful and bloody as a red-skied sunset. It was like entering on a storm built of hurricanes and tidal waves.

I wanted to impress her, or maybe a bit more. Maybe I wanted to shake her to her core. If she wouldn’t love me, through and through and through, maybe I could still impress her, impress myself up on her, metaphorically speaking. 

Metaphorically speaking, she’d slain my dragon in a single night, with its hide pinned to the wall as a warning to others. I barely escaped with my dignity intact, though we did keep dating for a while.

If you know what I mean.