older posting 2 of 3
I really miss watching car wrecks in autumn. Those tender moments where metal grinds like throbbing fuck-sticks, dancing while dressed in the finest paintjobs money could buy. Antifreeze, represents various things to you and I: drool, runny noses, putrified feelings we fake so well. We pretend to be happy behind these masks, yet no matter how well we act, we can not fool the audience that is our heart.
Wide eyes gaze zombified while flames tower from mutilated cruising caskets, that light up the sky, like a practice run for the fourth of july. I detect sorrow in those jeans you're wearing, make a move and give grudge fucking a chance. Reality is setting in again; October has a way of pulling me out of daydreams just before I ruin their endings. Innocent people are open season for us tonight my dear, we get a private viewing of a family of five being left for dead in a bonfire fed by human flesh and cheaply constructed motorships.
Their screaming gives me goosebumps all over, kind of like when I found you OD'ed in your parents' bathroom after our first break-up. You had a hilarious look on your face: the dying usually have no control over it. Oh how I love that aroma of torched hair coated with long last hairspray. If the wind picks up now it will fade smoothly into the pumpkin spice scent of your hair. I'm in the mood to caress you sweetly if only to cut your thighs and bleed you dry with teeth of ivory and nicotine.
The ambulance still isn't here yet, we might get to finish the film after all sweetheart. Every squarefoot of pavement is visible from our little hideout in the woods, off to the right of this intersection. Something is whispering sweet nothings into my head and sucking the top of my earlobe. The angel of death flirts without the sign of foreplay. I'm needed at the crashsite with no time to lose. Irony beckons me to save someone that I have watched die for the past fifteen or so minutes. Fuck you irony, you are indeed a cruel and very weird mistress, but I guess thats why I long for you and love you so. Which pawn do I pick or choose to play a role in my show for two? Irony really needs to carry her spraypaint when beckoning me or asking for favors.
Dawn comes on horses of iron. I will take the drunken survivor who caused all of this beautifully horrific life taking devastation. Her limbs are limp in my arms, I'll leave the torso for the authorities.
Wide eyes gaze zombified while flames tower from mutilated cruising caskets, that light up the sky, like a practice run for the fourth of july. I detect sorrow in those jeans you're wearing, make a move and give grudge fucking a chance. Reality is setting in again; October has a way of pulling me out of daydreams just before I ruin their endings. Innocent people are open season for us tonight my dear, we get a private viewing of a family of five being left for dead in a bonfire fed by human flesh and cheaply constructed motorships.
Their screaming gives me goosebumps all over, kind of like when I found you OD'ed in your parents' bathroom after our first break-up. You had a hilarious look on your face: the dying usually have no control over it. Oh how I love that aroma of torched hair coated with long last hairspray. If the wind picks up now it will fade smoothly into the pumpkin spice scent of your hair. I'm in the mood to caress you sweetly if only to cut your thighs and bleed you dry with teeth of ivory and nicotine.
The ambulance still isn't here yet, we might get to finish the film after all sweetheart. Every squarefoot of pavement is visible from our little hideout in the woods, off to the right of this intersection. Something is whispering sweet nothings into my head and sucking the top of my earlobe. The angel of death flirts without the sign of foreplay. I'm needed at the crashsite with no time to lose. Irony beckons me to save someone that I have watched die for the past fifteen or so minutes. Fuck you irony, you are indeed a cruel and very weird mistress, but I guess thats why I long for you and love you so. Which pawn do I pick or choose to play a role in my show for two? Irony really needs to carry her spraypaint when beckoning me or asking for favors.
Dawn comes on horses of iron. I will take the drunken survivor who caused all of this beautifully horrific life taking devastation. Her limbs are limp in my arms, I'll leave the torso for the authorities.
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