Love from different perspectives |
Part one: Lamb Mountains of cotton and polyester tremble in trepidation. An avalanche of sweat and splinters shower the polished marble. Semen stains the bedsheets; fluorescent in the lunar glow – signposts and muffled scents of misery. Tobacco stains the hillsides; perfectly displacing the freshly laundered snowfall. Self-indulgence in the name of love; perfection on the outside but bones and ash show the shattered skeleton of childhood dreams. The wounds won't heal if you play them again and again – disfiguring perfect flesh in sick tyranny. Creepers and vines sheath the bedhead; lust in slow motion and the haunting continues. Acid rapes an alkaline lake but neutral ground is unstable and the day breaks. Part Two: Hyena Schizophrenic sex on saline shores; saliva breaks the growth of monsters and memories – sugar in the engine of the love machine. Blue blood blotches the sheets like champagne in an anaerobic romance. The bedside lamp is obscured by smoke and steam scald the ceiling of ivory and cream. Turquoise pillowcases stained with hair of brown and gold - dyed to deter the last time. The window offers safety in broken glass but the morning illuminations are dull and dreary. Part Three: Spider Silk glistens in the artificial light; urine and poison drip like melted ice-cream. Insects instigate investigations of light-bulbs and open wounds. The fierce monsters fight for dominance and insecurity to eat them from inside. With broken wings and poisoned blood; a shell without a body and the spider dines again. Orange peel litters the sleeping chamber of the killing machine; the hairdryer was never plugged into the wall. The wasps and flies in eternal slumber fight for affection and unnatural union. They came too early if they came at all – the imposter has long since been claimed by starvation and exhaustion. The conquered renegade lover masturbates in irony. Part Four: Elephant The world laughed at lead and lust. The world never knew of love and rust. The sycophants never got out of bed. The hate exploded and now they're dead. Truth explodes in a silent look - Revenge like a storybook. Rhyme rapes the meaning from words. Part Five: Monkey The information age of published self-destruction; lights flash as the stairway becomes obsolete. The springs of the bed creak like the broken bones of the preserved dead. An explosion of power behind the membrane and the powder settles in nasal tubes. A visual clue in the quest for love - the modern-day Shelley is branded a menace in iron bars. Coffee stains the semen sheets and the burning forests intoxicate the weak. When love lost taste and feel; sex on the internet somehow loses intimacy with background music. The guitar reaches it's climax and the drums fade and the monkeys find another lover for another night. |