Too Hot

Musik: A La Mode, A La Mort - Angelspit
Kleiden: 60s-type top again with demin skirt and black lacy leggings. Basically whatever I could find on the floor when I got in this morning.
Filme: Silence of the Lambs (Demme)
Buchen: As before.

I'm going to whine about how much my face hurts from walking into a glass door, for starters. Pretty hilarious, though. I suppose.

I decided I'm going to experiment with surrealism for a while. I've tried stream-of-conciousness poetry and these are two of the results; the first is called Too Hot and is kind of nonsensical but it's pretty. The second is called Hayfever because I suffer greatly from it this time of year.

Too Hot

Too hot, too hot, too hot
Much too hot
Reality is slipping off, off, off
Reality’s slipping off of me
It’s melting down my face
My eyes, my hair, my teeth
Fall into my palms
With nails through them
For all that I have sacrificed
An antique cross
Oh, agony, agony, agony
Blood everywhere you look
The plants are bleeding
Crimson, soaked with it
Who was it that hurt you?
Whose blood do you weep?
Tears are salt
Tears compose the sea
Stop pestering me, stop pestering me
Like a tattered corpse
A zombie bride
Have you no pride? Have you no pride?
You are my shame
Shame, shame, shame
I shall prove to you
What real blood looks like
I’ll slash my arms, my legs, the skies
Even the skies are weeping for me
Little white specks
A million of them all coming together
A mass of hell, a mass of hell
So you are pure?
But how can you be sure?
Soft, virginal, dressed in blue
And bearing a screaming child
You bear me screaming
Clutching to the dregs
That weigh down my tea cup
A grim, grim prospect indeed
Doctors glaring down at me
I’m young, so terribly young
Then not, and kissing a pair of lips
That want more than just my lips
Roses frozen completely
In liquid nitrogen tubs
Wanting love, wanting love
Wanting hate, wanting hate
Lying still as death, as death
For hours and hours and hours
Pretending that I am dead
And a coward, a coward, a coward
Tears are salt
Tears compose the sea
Look at me! Look at me!
Fucking look at me!

Hayfever

Achoo, Achoo, Achoo!
Reeling, reeling
Closeness, rubbing desperately
Pain, stinging, watering
Running again from the nose
Quench my thirst
Like a dry bracken thistle
But too late…
Achoo, Achoo, Achoo!
Terrible throbbing in the skull
Unable to breathe
Tissues, tissues
The eyes again, again
Oh, exhaustion
Achoo, Achoo, Achoo!
Taking too much out of me
Restless, restless, restless
Streaming…streaming…
ACHOO!
Medication
Soften the blow
It cannot go on
Adieu