Had a dream I slay a 30-foot demon. Ran and jumped from a stairwell with my sword above my head! Landed on his neck and pushed it into his temple and I watched his huge yellow eyes roll backwards in their sockets. Then I went back home, over the wide Blue River, to our kingdom... Reality is not enough. It never has been. Do you dream as I dream? I pine so hard I'm almost sick.
We went to a party last night in Yermo. I met a pretty girl and we made out in the bathroom until people were banging on the door. I held her chin and told her I had a sweet tooth. I said I'll cut you into pieces and I'll put you in a pie. Didn't get her details but I remember her name. I told her, I am the Princess of Babylon. I am a musician in the Halls of God.
This man. I hate the way you are around me. Please don't beg me. You can tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, touch yourself and think of me, but quit telling me I'll be alright. Don't tell me what I need. Trying to twist me into shapes that my hips don't fit. I have never known somebody who believes they are entitled to me. An unbearably uncomfortable sensation.
Months have passed, I know. And the dissatisfaction worsens by the day. I keep seeing visions of a crooked smile and it keeps me awake at night. What I would give for a taste of the divine. I would do wrong, I would slit a throat. I'm aching for something I've never had yet I know exactly what it feels like. I think about it most in the afternoons. When the day is beginning to die... why can't I?
(i) DO YOU DREAM?
(ii) SWEET TOOTH
(iii) TOUCH YOURSELF
THIS PROFILE IS PROUDLY HOSTED BY
You are standing on a balcony at night, overlooking a dark blue, living city, and you see in the distance a tidal wave as tall as a mountain.
It is hurtling towards you, devouring buildings, and you shake and cry in terror and run back into your bedroom.
You hide under the desk in the corner and hug your knees. The curtains fly from the walls and your favourite books tumble from the shelves.
The sound of screaming and raging water is growing louder until it is deafening, and you are about to desperately shout out.
But instead you wake up on a mattress in the middle of a silent, yellow room.
The sun from the patio doors is painfully burning your sweating skin and your eyes are dry and squinting.
You peel the bed sheets from your body and see others sleeping on the floor around you, chests heaving, limbs sprawled, trying to release the terrorising heat.
You walk to the doors and step out onto the crumbling concrete slabs. You are winded by the hot sun. The soles of your feet sizzle and the bridge of your nose stings.
Ahead of you is never-ending, cracking, dried up earth. Everything is pale and dusty and the sky is flesh pink.
Through the rising, warping heat, you see a crouching figure far in the distance, with curling horns atop its head. It turns to you and its neck begins to lengthen.
You can smell the scent of rotten meat and it sets off a memory you have never recollected. Spit fills your nauseous mouth and you remember that you have a gun. You look down to see it in your trembling hand.