Cut down, burned away, used up… I was going to cut them up, like a comedian, or a serial killer, cut them up like suicides cutting up the length of their arms instead of across the wrists, cut them up, inside, where the real damage gets done.

She goes off with a bang; she goes off like dynamite; she goes off like she’s going off to kill some fucker; she goes off like she’s getting off, like this really does it for her. The clash of metal. The sting of the blood in the air. She’s a weapon.

We left her alone for a while; she burned down her home and she stabbed all her lovers with big icicles that melted back into piss long before the cops could arrive to take any fingerprints off of the weapons. Yeah, cold, bitter weapons. She used us.

Write to escape, write to ensnare, tell me more about that imaginary friend you had to kill that night. Tell me something that involves eating lots of candy and killing somebody who really deserves it. Something with horrible teeth or big mean teeth!

I’m not sure if watching this makes me feel like we’re sharing something special, but it’s… a transitory little post-modern moment, or something. Anyway. Thank… you… for sharing…? Yourself? Your moment? Your experience? Your day? Your smoke?

Ah the land where all bad memories go to become faded photographs that burn away in the wind. I almost can remember that place, those featureless faces, all that crap we left behind when we decided that there was someplace better for us to grow onto.

The first injection makes you sleepy, the next one makes you hungry, the one after that, and you’re on your feet like something halfdead, all that want dribbling from your messy little mouth, all that need trembling from your cruel little fingertips.

Yeah, we went out in a great and glorious ball of fire; we went out for ice cream, and a long walk in the park, during which we held hands and burned, burned, burned - burned and melted in the sun until we were just ribbons of tasty cream in the mud.

Was it love?

Who cares?

All that matters is:

It burned hot enough.

For long enough. 

“There’s nothing more beautiful than a lovely girl with nothing to say,” he said, fetching his bag of tools from the backseat of the cab. “A lovely mouth and what’s to be stuck in it, hmmm?”

While outside, the crowd dispersed quickly into the night.