Me and my dope sick girl

Hobbled dream of an opiate carriage. Me and my dope sick girl. Deranged mortuary love. Intimate winds off cobblestone graves. Reaper trees who’s branches arm the dead. Screaming epitaphs! ‘This one fought the Vietcong’! This says ‘Rubeola’! This poor soul blew his brains out.

I lay down beside my dope sick girl and whisper into her pregnant torso about 400 foot mammoth skulls, lions dens filled with barbiturates, lepidopteron life-cycles, about harlequins, pedophiles, amphetamine mountains.

Cleave her pink machine with my rocket flesh! That soft maze, perimysium grip. That womanly globe Galileo could not decipher. Our sweat will permeate the earth and soak into burrows of celebrity exoskeletons. Can’t you hear the thousand souls gloating beneath? Look above my pumping flesh at the haze of aging stars and scream what demons you see in constellations my dope sick girl.

$400, Ask for Natalie
1412 Welmont Street
Aberdeen, WA