Katrinadoesntknow

All I remember was her saying something about cardinals, yammering on as I continued to scrutinize the swaying cattails.   I think she mumbled something about beauty or youth or color but before I could turn to discern what she'd said, those words had dispersed into the distance; smeared amidst a flickering sunset.   I was captivated, gawking at the bleeding sky above me.   God's underbelly.   That effervescent inferno dancing on ever-distant hills.   I yearned for heat. She told me of blood: moist, hissing, exquisite.   She said it was fire; a delectable, searing ecstasy. "It feels like roses, maraschi

Honestly, I have not the strength to care. Your eyes were shark skin greasy, greasy tears. - Honesty was always optional but I couldn't quite grasp it why someone would say the exact opposite of what they really mean. Then I thought of irony and of you and that grin that isn't really even a grin it's a snicker. The sweetness of enjoying your own joke.

You know what this is. (I never knew beneath.) No matter how hard, typical of reptilian whores, and you were dirty, much the same, alive in kaleidoscope concepts. (Intercourse at every angle.) Only in the seconds I couldn't count strings. (We are but puppets.) Exhaling supernova influence, tasting. Control.

Is it really fear?   Till my blood runs silver, pure mercury. I know little of coherency. - Today feels like chalk and phlegm and pheromones. I remain a retching mound of meat. An undulating mass of muscles and organs. - When I thought of you I thought of flesh. Sensation and numbness, breathing while holding my breath alive but always dead - I saw red, maraschino streaks. Lines of flamingo pink creased across the surface. Then I thought of flesh and blood and feeling and for a second, I couldn't hate you. - Is this fear?