Untitled Letter/Prose
Life, it just don’t quit. It just "tries you" to see if you want to bite back. Sometimes you gnash at the answers other times you just crawl back into your hole. People in general are either drones or lemmings or vultures or vampires. Very few have a real soul.
Very few are true. We are surrounded by factions mating with clans and finger fucking dogmas till they're blue. They are all hand cranked from rusted robot maggot machines. Built furiously upon a mountain of cum and plasticine.
Without her life would have been, simply put, anti-bliss. Drowning into a cesspool of bitter disappointment. I’m just happy she exists. Happy I am, she enjoys my antics, my dank word salads and my blistering bardic ballads. I’m really just happy she actually likes "this".
So many people play pretend. So few are true. The world is filled with self focused blood stained leeches. Sunning themselves in their blistered bikinis lying on broken glass beaches.
So I found her and she ain’t nothing like the masses. She fills me with blatantly harmonious banshee screams. And midnight moon dancing, sex witch wet dreams. She's my crystal phone partner and my waist tethered, ritual dark angel queen. And all I can do is I thank her for being her, and nothing in between.
