SERIES: AMOURENZYKIE

Your paper skin is 
Too frail to carry that 
Heavy heart of lead.

I feel you in my 
Veins, turning my blood to ink. 
Write me into you.

Your hands are like wicks, 
Candlelit suppers and your 
Wax flesh sliding off.

I don’t want palm to 
Palm (Holy Palmer’s Kiss) I 
Want to be Godfucked.

My lungs clutched in your 
Iron fist, Venus on a 
Serrated fish hook. 

Do you ever think about death?

Sometimes.

Have you ever wondered how you’re going to go?

Yeah, i hope it’s slow.

Why?

So that I know when to let go.

I hope we die together. Holding hands.

Hm.

We could go out in a blaze of glory, jump off the Eifel Tower or something.

Or track mark infections.

I don’t care how we die, as long as we’re together.

(I hope you die first. I want to strip the flesh from your bones. I want to drink your blood and choke on your fingers. I want to vomit into your empty ribcage and wear your wicked heart as a crown. I want to pull out every single one of your teeth, little pieces of white marble, and grind them to dust. I want to feel your eyes cold in the palms of my hands, your eyelashes caught under my fingernails. I want to feel your last breath in my mouth, my tongue pressed against the back of your convulsing throat. I want to feel your cold slick blood on my face. I want to feel you transcend your body. Transcend. Transcend. Elevate.)