cant grow anymore.
I am sorry. Wait, no I’m not.
What exists now is the terrifying
But titillating spiral
A clear mind belies awareness
Transparency not clarity
Organic connections degraded, annihilated
Raw, wet with the refusal to accept
Explain the gravity of a falling leaf to the psychiatrist
Reacting with a brief shiver he is a mere continent away.
alone in feeling the spoon scraping the lashes
Scooping away vision with the ease of low-fat pudding
The torment is comforting
And we long to be cleansed
the satin gasoline is effective
in which we slowly but luxuriously bathe
Giggling freely he lights a match
And moans as it cascades toward his thigh
Bursting blissfully as the flames envelop
Each sacred limb
A disintegrating mass attempting to pirouette fast enough
That the destruction will
at least
be a passionate explosion rather than a desperate collapse.
Autumn brings dry leaves that cushion our feet
But he is oblivious to the consequence of his frenzied turns
And soon our morality too is murdered
By his carelessness
The glory of a beautiful suicide
