Ignatius Ignite!

You would never have given enough to have reaped the same.
You would never have left enough for the famine and the pain.
You would never have even considered the same if it wasn’t for the zombies playing havoc in your head.

But you did and I’m sitting here now lame.
Another insane player of this real life game.

I’m fucking playing havoc with the happiness in my brain – not used to this novocaine – writing how you’re writhing in my dreams – I’m spiting how you’re spitting on these reams – how you’re settling in for another deep sleep and I’m wide awake contemplating these things.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I do care – I do care – You are my asylum and I’m here with nothing but sordid thoroughfare keeping me restless and restrained. I’m maintained and methaned – gas bubbling into my brain – you are not watching but you’re here anyways and this is how it went…

They, the formidable duo tore apart our democracy – tore the fucking sheets thin and left them to dry on the wind – they shared our rights and none of our responsibilities.
They carved away our humanity and left us paper-thin. But I am not complaining.

I know that you loved your father and you saw in him everything that you wanted to be within the man that you felt like you would be safe enough to fall into sin – but, but-but, mankind is grim and when he left you – you fucking crumbled within. Like a fortune cookie you were broken open and I looked in – and I saw the writing on the wall written not in blood but in sin – and I spat and shook and fucking cooked the cook – they frolicked and rolled and gave fame to me. I sucked him up and I dazzled him in grimy voices that only belong in the dim shadows of a fucking swan-song where boys can be girls and girls don’t get wronged.

He was a friend bonded within your genes – he was wrapped tightly around you before you could grin and before you could breathe and before your heart started beating – before he started beating your mother within that humble home you called Saint Christine – the place where you saw it all – and you’ve seen it all and because of this you have made him recollect the places and the faces where he had the chance to spend days just locked away in the hollow fabric of an asylum. But you still want him, you desire him – I know this because I know him. I’ve followed, stalked, whatever-thefuck-youwanna-call-it- I’ve done it to him. I’ve become him through your vacant life in him – I filled the vacuum that brought you to him – once again, twice for pain. Three times for love you tried to suck the life out of his wife – out of spite – she was nothing – she was held up against your bright light and she was seen to be see-through like a fucking x-ray – bones and all you brought her downfall.

He kissed you – he fucking Kissinger’d you – he wrote your history after having fucked you. Where she was untouchable you became the place of Utopia – you wrote the Iliad in his heart and you spoke verbosity to his soul – you placed perfection in his mind and you intertwined your fingers- those dirty little playful tinglers – within his solid hand, that father of yours – that king of all lands.

The most beautiful thing about you is not your hazy, crazy, fucking sullen face – it’s the places you’ve been and the sordid grace that you left growing – the type of sin that only I could see manifesting in lives and souls that I see in everything. And you’ve made me angry now, you’ve made me sin – because you chose him.

You chose him.

You’ve driven me to eat apples and to grin – to pump weights and to sing – you’ve made me into everything that I wanted to be before I knew you – and the irony cannot be misconstrued – the writer’s already written the interlude and our prologue couldn’t come too soon.

And lo and behold I actually go into the room where you’ve devilishly intertwined with him – and he’s inside of you and beginning to come where no man but me should have ever known. Lo and behold he’s trampling your cherub.
He’s crusading into your Israel – he’s stealing your Madonna and molding it into his Jesus – he’s crashing upon your cheeks like cold freezes and I’m here watching as this situation manipulates itself into geysers of hate and fire – my heart burning, watching, always yearning for the touch of you – the touch that you’re now giving into him, you’re drilling into him searching for the jewels that I hold inside my acidic heart – the only place that your alkaline touch could ever caress and impart some sort of softness. I’ve seen the flash of your beautiful forehead as it touches his in crescendo – I am trying to walk out of this room but I’ve lit another cigarette and so -

Don’t do that.

Don’t do that.

No.

Don’t writhe.

Don’t wobble.

Don’t flip up and down.

Don’t drip.

Don’t stutter.

Don’t suck the sweat off his crown.

Don’t make me hate you – don’t make me leave town.

His metal now yours – please don’t impound

this frightful, tearing, colossal love of ours.

You are your Father’s little play toy -
you’re his Patricia Krenwinkel in this sad little story.

I swear to God my life is being written by my ex as you manage to flex into that awful position. His piston destroying the machination that I always pondered – (dreaming of lovers, and love – now absconded).

You’re my rip, you’re my rank hole – perfect for me to slip into – suitable to suck my soul.

Your parents fucking made you – and your history became you – I dreamed of taking you but the Devil has already found you.

Leave me to love you.
Leave me to leave you.
Leave me to the lions.