Baby, it feels like falling.

I find myself a stranger
in deep clothing
a drag disguise
that opens all the blinded eyes
and your twisting channel rage
wake up.
break up.
morphine would know you better.
i want to know, my soldier
what makes you hold that gun?
i was here before your time.
let me be
wild and free
as kisses lace your crystal cheeks.
it's soft and put together
it's pitiful, too
the way we bottle Jesus and broadcast sex

on airwaves of cologne, blown through
my nasal comma
it claims all british horror
that lie.

weaknesses aren't all that they're
cracked up to be
even when they're shot with blow
and made for everyone to see
it's not white,
it's avalanche.

we never hear a single crash
it snuck in like a bad rash
had my heart on the hem of it's pants

"water's too scorching for a shower,
give me a minute."

give me an hour.

why do i know this?
it's too much thinking.
i feel as if i'm constantly sinking
blinking passed waves of definite angst.

love is supposed to teach you
1+1
but we learn in 3s
past envy.
present pain.
future witness.

i'm okay,

it was one of those mondyas
that makes you want to touch yourself.
but only when she
pours the line
then you're a
good little human,
good little slave.
don'y forget to hit the wood.
ten should do,
for all you've been through.

"daddy.
(daydreaming.)

what does it feel like?
what does it feel like to die?"

he could say beautiful.
he could say a soft touch,
he should say beautiful.

"baby, it feels like falling,
and f___ing,
and shaking,
and that first orgasm..
that reaches to the tip of your toes."

"baby, it feels like falling,
and waking up,
and snorting crank,
and that first taste of reality..
that reaches to the tip of your toes."

and you're scared,
"it's okay, daddy, you can let go."

"baby, it feels like falling,
and sex, without a condom.
and booze. in a red, plastic cup.
and weed. with no restrictions.
like praying for 46 years and
paying Jesus to save you a place in Heaven
(where you belong),
but waking up in hell..

baby, it feels like falling."