How Mysterious, How Queer
We came out at night, looking for bitches to fuck up. We were multi-ethnic, multi-sexual… hell, I’m pretty sure Mary had two cocks and a cunt up under her skirt, and that’s when she was all alone, which she rarely was.
We crawled out from between the cracks of the buildings like black mould, spreading insidiously. We crept like spiders on their bellies, and we tumbled through the night like balls of lightning spinning and spinning and spinning around.
I wanted to be so fucking cool, but I had a flaw, buried deep inside of me. It kept me small and pathetic; a key trapped in my lock. I tried to use things to dislodge the key - sex and drugs and food and obsession and religions and public service. But I remained, somehow, locked out of myself.
We broke into hotel rooms like you might break a young thing’s heart. Or maybe it was the other way around; we broke young things’ hearts like we had a stolen pass-card or a tool-bag of slim little hooks and picks which were just perfect for gaining illicit entry.
“Yeah, you like it when I force my way in?” I said, feeling the wood of the door-jam giving way as we stepped inside.
I’ve been waiting for you; waiting like I’m waiting to die.
I’ve been waiting for years to die, by a side like yours.
“Look at those tits,” a corpse says to me. “Look at that ass!”
And I am looking. I’m looking at you, your body, your movements.
And I’m waiting for you to move back to me.
And I’m waiting to die.