hopefully this tangled web of words will become a poem someday....


We are Warriors.
We are Lovers.
We are Broken.
We are Beautiful.

Suffocating.
Drowning in our own sweat,
The taste of blood,
Exhaustion has set in,
Crazed exhaustion,
We fight harder...
All the nameless Lovers,
Our bodies pressed together...
Merciless gods on their distant stage,
We press towards them,
We press towards them as they scream their insults,
We scream our love for them as they laugh,
As they taunt us with our Weakness,
Demand we fight harder,
Harder,
To get nowhere.

This is the only Dance we understand.
It was made for us,
As we growl our sickened love song from cracked and bleeding lips.

The pain in my head is like lightning as our skulls collide.
We are one--a mass of desperate, frantic lovers.
This is Hatred.
This is Love.
This is fury, this is Desperation,
All bound together in our ugly, broken melody.
Embrace the pain, or it will swallow you.

I know it seems so overwhelming,
When your body is Somewhere beyond your control...
Your head rolling,
Hair--sweaty, matted, yanked, flailing about you.

You are so helpless.
Don’t fight that feeling.
Lose yourself to the
Fierce Tornado you have become...
Leap when they push you,
Roll from body to body,
Let them crush you,
Crush them back.
Close your eyes,
Enjoy it.
You must learn to love this.
You must.
Abandon your need for control.
Abandon your need for Safety.
You never really had either, anyway.

Love the Strangers around you,
But love them without tenderness,
Understand that they bruise you because you are the same,
And do not restrain from bruising them.

You are not an individual.
You have no past, not one that Matters,
Because we are all here for the very same reason.
Some we will lift upon our shoulders,
And others will be crushed beneath our merciless feet.

This is something sacred.
Our hands,
Grasping the Emptiness,
Our world,
So dark,
So heavy.
We grope,
We stumble,
We fall together.

Don’t panic.
Don’t panic.
Your foot wedged tightly between the sweaty bodies,
Your face crushed against some naked back.
The floor is slick with our broken bottles,
With the slime of our sweat.
Someone smells like vomit,
And still,
Still you are swept under,
Those thrashing bodies crush your ribs,
Suffocating you,
Your shallow breaths grow weaker,
Vision dimmer,
Through the shadowy figures.
Cling to the arms,
Cling to the tattooed arms around you.
There, there! There is the flashing lights!
There are the shadowy forms and washed out colors!
You are being lifted,
The floor feels dizzy under your feet,
But you are more alive than you have ever between before,
Lost to a whirlpool of sounds,
The screaming,
The growling,
The thumping that could be drums,
Or is it our hearts,
Is it our hearts beating together?
Someone’s arm is wrapped about you.
He is lifting you,
Lifting you above these frantic bodies,
Above this sadistic ritual.
Your teeth feel like fangs behind swollen lips.
You smile,
Tongue rolling across thirsty teeth.

Your mouth tastes of blood,
The air reeks of blood.
Someone’s Blood on your fingertips.

So many hands, all over your body...
You are suspended, dancing in the air, nothing to keep you from the floor but these hands, dancing by some power outside of yourself. you are bigger, you are stronger, in your weakness.

There is nothing left--
No Energy,
No Strength,
NOTHING but this Passion to Survive,
This Emotion deeper than Love or Hatred.
It is more than enough.
It is better.

The bodies are rolling like a sea below you.
You are their whore.
We are all whores.

Into some strangers arms again,
The floor tingles below your feet.
The bodies’ separate--
The space, the distance, is dangerous.
You throw yourself into the Emptiness, as so many others,
A Mock Suicide.
We all collide, burning, burning together.
Someone punched the side of your face, and your eye socket feels hollow.
Your earrings are ripping out.
There will be scars, always, to remind you of this night.
Follow the boy with the lip ring, mimic the way he shakes, his body obedient,
Sheer joy flowing from him, spilling between the bruises.
Each vertebra feels twisted,
Disconnected from the others.

You are not a being,
You are not a thing of blood and flesh,
Connected by bones.
Your essence is splattered in the Darkness, and you are a peice of everything in the room.
We are drained of Sorrow,
Unable to mourn our past when covered in blood.