Adam Perry

Suck to Breathe There's been a murder. Things are really starting to shape up. "She came right up to the doorway, laughed, and used two hands to pull the knife down my back." It made her lustful and wet with inspiration. I'm compelled to shiver and finally come through, my sick skin burning and melting in favor of this spotted shell; out in the world like a bad dream, pages crumble. Countless places poorly armed whisper a concrete chance at New Jerusalem- I've tried to hide it. Memories granting naked spaces one at a time, feeling warm in the frozen desert evening. Unaccustomed to lovers making promises, conversation-washing pardons stumbling down streets of gold, and hearts warmed by fornication. My skull cracked and I couldn't breathe, hands purple with envy. The imagination ran away and onto a page; I was a little shocked when she hiked up her skirt and let me in for the ride of my life. Silence robbed me of circumstance but never passion. It doesn't make sense to me - like it's pushed through my body from somewhere else, somewhere unknown but somehow formulating into a subject. Heaving silver stars into a network of cold souls wounded and lost - a ghostly sanity will juxtapose a sweet undertow. I need to suck on this to survive. I can feel her in my fingers, shaking/trembling and experiencing hot flashes of an alcoholic demise - her cunt feeds me freedom. Has it changed? "I wish I was there to give you a huge hug right now. This isn't working." Damage to the skin and jubilant white light break through a coffin buried beneath a cringing pool of toil and blood. She's admittedly red with happiness and excitement. I'm exploring this contempt and relaying a still-beating heart that was handed to me by Jehovah in an effort to put a muzzle on his choir. He's pissed that I'm a failure. I was on cloud nine. There's been a security breach - I'm hungover and hung up. She's a free spirit at my expense. There are painful screams coming from inside the auditorium and blood has been spilled over the floor. Her best guess was "Dr. Filth did it in the little boy's room with the microphone." "It was only the best night of my life." "Of my life." Go to hell. ********************************************** Blonde Ecstasy There's a place I want to live - where a peaceful thunderbolt will sear my true heart and give birth to silent control. Where fragments of frenzied feelings warm sober shadows and the future disappears in flames of burning acid. "And to see everything else is to become an understanding molecule in evolution." Be grateful your memories don't reach this far back. "But what's the reason for living if you know what'll happen when you die?" This place is a promise of passion and an absence of self-made scars - not absolution, but an end of reality. Self-consuming begins at the wrists, your soulmate's brains scattered all over the pavement - and desire lives in constant construction, throwing stones at the window that is forever and dancing in a pool of blonde ecstasy. Are you growling because you're annoyed or because you want me to stop trying to smooth things with my empty advice? They've started a fire that can only be put out with an atom bomb. Can you look at a beautiful evening sky and forget about what man has created? This place is a pulse across the stars, a tool of the universe that expresses disdain for Eros' tranquil search - and I'm waiting for another love-light to fall from the rays of the blinding sun. I wish I could whisper your name to you, over the trees in your backyard, under the waves that are the ocean of your death, and through the crackling fire we make love next to. Let's start deep in the shallow waters and forget ourselves and remember everything else. This madness is deafening - but "we know, beyond a shadow of doubt, that there's more out there than anybody ever let on." We know we must find the ashes and start all over with a shot to be heard round the world. For that, she sweeps my very throat, dry and disgusting, and paints a picture of my loving arms. My fingers are swollen tonight - things have been a little unbalanced. Fantasy hangs from a perpetual tempered age when you stopped talking me.

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