The best part of her, was her tongue.

It was a long, narrow slit, like a samurai sword sticking out from between her lips.

She was a long, narrow slit; a tear in the fabric of the universe, through which a bit of light might slip through. 

She stuck it in my mouth; she stuck her tongue in my mouth, and she bled me out. She bled me out between her lips, and she drank me down like pornstars doing unseemly acts on camera. 

The best parts of her, were whatever parts I could get my hands on. Her skin burns patterns into my flesh. Her eyes burn words into my mind, words like “freedom” and “penance”. She traces awkward tattoos across my body with her fingertips. Inky fingertips, tracing cobwebs of shadows into my form. 

She breathes me in, and chokes me down.

You never liked me, you just liked my status update.

I wish you and me could be arch enemies, you know? I wish we could’ve known each other for years, and sort of fallen in love, and now we’re caught in this contest of wills, one of those weird things that only a couple of really powerfully intense people can get into, something that fucks up other people’s lives and shit. 

I smoke until I get dizzy enough for you to take advantage of me. I suck back sunshine and I exude pure emotional damage; it comes off me, in thick wavy lines of radiation. It turns the concrete of the sidewalk into soup, it melts down skyscrapers like they were candles, singed for trying to climb too close to the sun.

Come, get close to me.

Come on, get close to me.

I’m lonely, or hungry, or I feel like fucking somebody up. I really feel like fucking somebody up, emotionally. I feel like being some sort of parasite, or a leach, or a vampire bat from a creepy 1950’s B-movie. I want to wound you, to rip you apart, to make you fall in love with me and to tear you apart. I wanna tear you apart. I-

We’re not so different, you and I. Us self-hating fuckers, just in love enough to get off on the friction of the ego rubbing on the edges of the everything else. Just in love, or in luck, or alone. Yeah, you’re just alone, inside your goddamn head where nobody understands you, (right?), and that makes you a little more like me than we were originally willing to admit.

Fuck, do I wish you had a knife to put into my heart right now. Fuck, would I ever love to let you try to put me down, for good this time. Fuck, is a word that I use when I feel like you’re maybe not getting the emotional impact of my otherwise ordinary phrases. 

Me, I got love like a loaded gun, and a song on hardcore-repeat. 

Repeat after me:

I just wanna break your heart. 

She comes up to me, comes on to me, drunk as she can be, and giggling. Everything about her reminds me of why she left me, and why I left her. She left me, but I broke up with her. I broke up with her once she’d left the room, and she still blames me for that.

She’s waiting.
By the stairs.
And she’s waiting.
for me to come home.
Doors try to slam, but stay open.
She tries to close the conversation, but the topic remains open to debate. 

She’s a big fat soap-bubble, floating on my breath. 

She loves me until I leave bleed.

You’ve been hurting for so long now; let me heal you a spell.

Let me reach into your chest, just next to right between your tits, where hipster girls wear tattoos under necklaces. Let me reach into your chest, and pull your heart out.

Do you know it when it’s in my hands? Just a dark little shred of flesh. I could turn it into jam in my hands, it could drip from me like lumpy jam. Your heart - what there is left of it.

Let me break off your teeth inside your mouth; I’ve decided that I don’t like the way you wear your smile. I dislike your approachable nature, your would-be predatory attributes. I want to ruin that bit of faker-art you’ve been trying so hard to turn yourself into.

Broken teeth inside the mouth; jagged incisors scissored in half. You’ve got a mouth full of bloody bits now; I could stick your heart atop your tongue and watch you grind yourself into bits. I could, and if I were just a slightly left to centre of where I am, I would.

(Her voice is still ringing in my ears; I’ve never heard her speak, but I can imagine it so simply that I have to assume my imagination is out to get me now.)

God I wanna take over your world. I want to hang my posters on your wall, and force my mantras onto your lips.

I want to write your politicians’ speeches; I want to be crouched around the corner from the cameras, my gun pointed at their children’s heads, making them all behave until the coast is clear.

I want to put down the dissenting voices against me. I want to lock the disagreeable types away in a cupboard somewhere. I want to put up a big barbed wire fence around your city limits, lined with long iron walls. 

I want to break your will against mine, like rocks striking for sparks. 
I want to break your bones against mine, so we can bleed together like a proper scene of depravity and desperation.

I’m desperate to control you, desperate to own you.  

If you could get those fingers wrapped around that throat, then maybe you’d be able to experience something not unlike the love I feel when I’m falling in love with that heartless robot duplicate of you that I found in your bed the other morning. 

I love you, I love you, I do, but your skin is as hot as the surface of the sun and your sexual organs are lined with poisoned razor-blades that move as though they’ve got minds of their own and an agenda against me. 

We’re out holding hands, skipping across the killing fields, untroubled by pains. Fucking pains, fucking pleasures. I could sleep forever and never need your name. I could wake up from this fucking nightmare if I wanted to, but I don’t. I’d rather live in hell than exist without you.

You’re as hot as hell, which is to say, I find you as attractive as primitive man was afraid of the possibility of a realm of eternal suffering to be discovered on the other side of his mortal life. 

I’d like to be your lover, but I’d settle for victim or janitor. Really, I’d just to love to be there when you opened up your heart some lonely morning, and let that kaleidoscope of multi-coloured butterflies fly loose from the empty space you hold within the centre of your being. 

I’ve been waiting all day for you to come and look me over. For you to find me wanting, for you to find me, here where you left me, wanting for you.

I’ve been waiting all my life for somebody to smile at me just like I think you might.

I’ve been waiting for so long to fall in love like gravity had a hold on my emotional responses. I’ve been waiting so long to look into your eyes all day long. I’ve been trying to be transformative, I’ve been trying to be something special and full of life and laughter, just so you’d want me around.

I melted in the rain like sugar and salty tears running away and forever.

I melted into your skin and became an invisible tattoo, your invisible tattoo, your undetectable alteration forever becoming more and more and more in mind, in your mind, if you don’t mind my getting in on you more and more and more.

God doesn’t test me. God basically leaves me alone. But people… man, people test me all the time. They see how much shit I can put up with. 

I can’t see how well anything is going to go in advance. I can’t see into any futures that don’t involve setting the sky on fire. I can’t imagine how I’d go on if I wasn’t dripping blood and anti-freeze from the pores in my skin, dribbling strange chemicals out the back of my head, like all those bad ideas that cling to the sides of my personality. 

I think sometimes you think I like you because you’re so fucked up. I assure you, I love you despite your personality, okay? You don’t even know what I like about you. 

I’ve got a social event to hit in a couple of days, and I’ll admit something to you here and now: I’m a little worried that it’s going to be full of people I’ve already written off as being pieces of shit. I dunno. We’re gonna find out, I guess. 

Some days I wish I could turn my personality invisible.