Could you tell me the exact moment when you found out you were mad, when everything around you made no sense anymore? And the answers just spat out more questions. Could you remember the lies you lived by? And still live by because they´re just too deeply carved into your skin and burnt into your soul to forget. You are who you are because of these lies you hate. You live by a code that wasn´t handmade for you, in a life that became just one more.
Am I as mad as you? Or have I just regained the knowledge that was snatched from me at birth? Have you done the same? Or have we just coincidently found each other, too mad and fucked to know the difference between your shadow and my reflection?
You would see I´m a little saner than you if you looked me in the eye, if you could only bear to do so you would see it. I´m thirteen years too late and you still open the door. Could you answer me why? I don´t really need to be here, I just thought it would be a nice gesture to drop by to see your tattered skin; your gorgeous eyes. Make my way back home through those milky eyes.
But I can´t leave now I´m too high on the smoke that seeps from your skin, soaked in tobacco petals and opium seeds. Feeding the smell that dwells upon your sex, is your sweet and sour hormones that attack anyone willing to come close. I can smell you all too well, and those scents don’t leave questions in the air. They answer every single one I´ve had since I can remember. And you, indifferent, insane don´t give a damn.
I´ve fucked around with your presence so many times, but your presence lacks your taste, your tongue, it lacks everything but orgasms, it lacks your fire lit chest. I´m going around in circles. Licking everything around; smelling every rose in town; and it´s just one I haven´t found, the one I´m crazy for. Could you deliver me, lay me down on the front step, before her door? I´d take a number, I swear. But there is no number. There is no door. There are no roses, no reflection, and as you were imagining, I´m already home.