Getting It Right The First Time
I’m burning down her marshmallow manufacturing plant; gaining my vengeance in big sticky puddles of scorched sugars and pale white gobs of gelatine.
I snuck in while the guards were distracted by the pornography I’d had airdropped in overnight; cum-shot compilations with parachutes detailed with close-ups of illustrated intercourse. You know what I’m talking about; it makes you feel a little uncomfortable, but eventually you loosen up, and get down with the bad ideas.
I stole all the money from the safe; she owed it to me, for Services Rendered. She made me beg; now I was going to make her pay. She said she’d pay me to beg, just because it turned her on to sign the cheque.
And now I’ve come for vengeance; sticky vengeance, and as much cash as I can carry out. My goal is to make her regret ever falling in love with me and breaking my heart.
Yeah, she broke my heart. She used two big guys and a truck and three different types of hammer, but she broke it. Shattered the goddamn thing into so much dust and numb memories.
So now she was going to pay.
Pay, and burn.
My revenge smelled awful and sweet, like she’d always been.
Out Of Head And Hand
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.
Ice Cream And That Other Thing
I asked her out for ice cream, I asked her to come out and Destroy All Humans with me.
“Nothing with rasins,” she insisted, “and no ethnically-based parameters.”
“You’re reading my mind,” I told her. My mind was full of visions of vanilla shot through with fudge-ripple, peppered with peanut-butter cups. Young people with barbed wire strung around their throats.
We held hands in the sunshine, devouring cones of pink, purple, aqua-marine, taupe, celadon… Ice creams the colour of every sunrise, every sunset. Ice cream colours melting down the cones, living surrealist images, all too real in the hot, hot sun.
We set fire to churches and hospitals. We set off bombs in the midst of shopping centres. We painted clouds in the sky with human body parts. We scattered the ashes of mankind to the wind.
Butterscotch ripplings, rivers of gooey mollasses, candied jewels of amber shot through with teeth-enriching sugars. Melting against lips and fingertips.
She ran ahead, and I followed after. We dribbled little messes behind ourselves; spilt dairy products and ruined civilizations.
Honestly, I don’t even know what love’s supposed to look like.