ND (9/4/1993 / Oxford)

My Illness

Thank you for the girls of misgiving
As I have suspected that this proportion of England owes me a living
The emotion of me finds their dumb natured souls insufferable
Yet the stealth soldier in me is fascinated by them- finding them weaker, vulnerable
At the foot of the erect tower we would kiss like vampires:
Biting, chewing, licking, spilling the tongue in a thrust or a gyre
Until we shed blood from eachother but continued the mood: awkward and humpy
Now the Blood stains the walls of where the devil let us work
And at those moments to hard to explain after we mentally fucked
But I now I hardly see you, except those fading memories, of
The beach of London we had to ourselves, and that illegal woman more beautiful than you
Abuse given from the bitch to the poof; you hated me but you need me
Nowadays I have killed you, Sorrow's native son
He will not smile for anyone
Occasionally I make models of you for a short time
Tape you face onto theirs and squeeze them into your body line
But they do not act they way you do
“Give In to Lust
Before we become dust”
They don’t understand like you do, or pretend to
Then, on our sands
Another better man takes her hand
A smile lights up her stupid face
The pretty girls’ grave has never looked so good
Your angelic personality encased in sweat, semen, blood
You sucked away my faith in girlhood

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