Y2k Arrives in your neighborhood, kissing your sister and making her cry

I have a cockroach in my stove that is so big that it cannot stagger home. The thick exterior is more important than the plastic coating, pal. Instead of going to bed where I am supposed to be, I continue to lurk about the Cage, and wait for my lover. Getting drunk, we forget about food for yet another day. The night is quiet and warm against the backdrop, a nightmare of waves washing over you. Lend me your clown for a day, and I will make the dreams into a reality. Making money, building buildings, making it big, we will eternally burn in our own waste. This is the pulse of the American machine scratching away at you as you sleep, making your truths into confusions. We are all rehearsing for the last call. Make me a promise that will not fail to come home. The ground is not so soft. Every day makes you into a bigger liar.

"My late night recreational eating binge has concluded and now I'm thirsty," she says melodramatically. "I wish that I had a home that I could call my own. The world owes me nothing."

Everyone wants to grow up to be Napoleon. I thought, for sure, that you were different than all of them. You have so proved me wrong. Everyone is a fucking Napoleon. Get over it.

"By the way, didn't I tell you to fuck off?"

"But oh well."

I don't think that I have been so mismanaged, so manipulated, in my shadowed past. The housekeeper walks in without warning. I swear that I can feel the mattress crawling underneath us. Let's not be shy. I will stand on my head for you. There is no shame in the promise of dying because of your words. I was begging her, just for a moment, to say what she meant, to believe in what she said. It was never like that. There was never any happily after. Ask me again tomorrow, and I will tell you the same. You make passes at my lies, and lies into my passions. I will never forgive you for loving me as much as you did. To put it simply, I will never forgive you. The streetlights came on and caught us kissing under the gathering darkness. Leaning hard against the car along the curb, my fingers press into her flesh. I want her to die, all over again. This time, the monster wins, again.

Night fell all over her and made her cry into her dreams. If there is an excuse, we promise to name it after you. When were the curtains drawn? I never noticed that you had forgot how to love me. In the hiding and the closet, there is warmth in all the disguises. The next time that you think that you can come into my life and set fire to my dreams, you should imagine yourself lying on the ground, in the midst of a siege, as the enemy approaches. Crawling on your knees, finding your way in the dark, there is a signpost that says Nevermind. I didn't mean it. I was just kidding. We have grown tired of making excuses for the lazy ambition and lies that bubble up on the surface on her skin. If you can remind us of your purpose, we might be able to reinstate your eligibility to access the machinery. What was it that you were trying to say? We cannot hear you. Say something. Mean something. Do something.

 

razee@razee.com

Razee Ink 2000-2009