I love smoke.

Smoke rising up from cigarettes, up from gun barrels, wafting skywards like phallic representations shooting an orgasm into an anti-gravity atmosphere. 

Smoke, drifting from lips. Inhale, exhale, and a plume is released. A cloud comes out. Airborne particles mixed with saliva and the chemicals that control emotional responses. 

I feel like smoke. I carved out of smoke. Immaterial, mutable, intangible. 

Slip-side melting. Let go, and tumble off to the side.

I wish I was made of something that could last. I wish I was an ancient tree, waiting to be burnt down by lightning. I wish I was carved out of rock, hard as fuck and twice as old. 

She tries to grasp me, and just catches my edges, fraying. She pulls me apart in her attempts to get a handful. 

She said Baby, you’re gonna be the one who maybe. 

I don’t believe that anybody know things things I know about her, now.

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to say to you. But I don’t know how.”

But I’m gonna be sitting here typing, until I’ve got it done.

The circus is coming to town: rush down to the big open field to watch them setting up! See the acts before they start the show! 

Look: It’s a pack of miniature dragons! Only inches long, these little flying monsters are capable of exhaling flames that’ll light your cigarette or remove an eyebrow! 

Watch: the amazingly unbearded woman is shaving her trick otters! She’s so beautiful, with those strange little teeth, and elongated fingers. If you ask her nice, she might let you peek up under her skirt, so you can see how she got her name.

Observe: The Invisible Lovers, known only by their sounds of copulation and the wet stains they leave behind. How much would you pay to know? Probably everything you’ve got.

Check it: they’re setting up the Wonderwall! Nobody feels the way I feel about you now. You never knew it, you’ll never really get it, but it’s so fucking true, that it breaks my heart a dozen ways to see you deny it. Nobody feels the way I feel about you now. All those walked winding roads. Blinding lights. The Wonderwall is built of golden bricks, and it climbs up into the sky like a false sun. Watch it grow! You might be the one that’ll save me.

Yes, the circus has come to town, with all its tricks and shows. 

Smile bright, and take my hand. We’ll go down and see it all together. 

“I said maybe,” I said again, calmly, quietly, “you’re going to be the one to tame me.”

She just smiled, and hit me again. 

I’m crawling on the floor like I’m looking for a contact-lens. I’m on my hands and knees like I’m serving her. I wish somebody would serve me. I wish somebody would serve me for dinner, my lovely little neck broken, my flesh roasted to perfection. 

I let my blood flow like acid in the veins. I let her go like we were never in love. I let him have a piece of me, the best piece of me; if he gets to taste her then he knows a bit about what I’m like inside myself.

And me, what would I like a taste of? What sort of things would I like to say? To you? If not, then to who?

Who’s going to be the one to save me?

That girl is, I said maybe, she’s going to be the one to blame me. 
I said maybe.