no better time than now


laughter as a funhouse mirror
the madness in me recognizes the madness in you.

fucked up world,
reflecting it and each other in
sound and syllable

praise to the God of the apocalypse,
the God of poverty

vocal chorded scorch-earth happy
I know you in the conflagration

(my first friend in the asylum)

take away my power until I kick you in the
till I leave hand shaped bruises we exclaim over tomorrow

and on the third day the sun created himself created the moon created herself

dancing in the pitch dark
wet paint colorless
illusions and feints

this is not soft intimacy

not when I can see your teeth


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