by Lanie Dubois
Weird thoughts that I had at four in the morning when I couldn't sleep.
|Hold a slithering thing in your fingers
Feel its breath on your cheek
Squeeze it slowly, until the blood comes out in little droplets of snow
Until death becomes a frozen corpse with its flesh taunt and blue
Kiss the corpseâ€™s lips and slip your tongue past its rotting teeth with the breath of an afterlife
Feel around in its mouth, inside the saliva and the vessels of blood
Are you enjoying this?
Does one become dead when it becomes one with the dead?
If you survive, give the dead man an embrace, a touch of lovers
Was it a fantasy?
Feel the moth come out of its shell, broken winged and dead
Death is only the beginning
Death is sex in reversal
Only in the thoughts of a lunatic
It ends when I confess
So here are the confessions of a lunatic