“get out of bed. your socks are dry and the cabinets are moist. get out of bed. the cereal bowl hasn’t been cleaned and you’re starving. get out of bed. death’s preaching and curling around the corner like it’s doomsday. just prowling. waiting for you. get out of bed. get out of bed. get out of bed.”
“love? not a battlefield. not those bullshit quotes you see lovers go glide in the park together and twist their arms and entwine. love is a theoretical term. it’s not the movies. i want you to fuck me.
thin and hard.
i want you to fuck me brilliantly. against the shutters. you will press me against the tip of the world and i will show you what gore is. what macabre has not been in years. my clit will run against your dick. it will be a work of art. picasso would be proud. dali would take a second glance. sparks will fly.
love is a theoretical term. you do not grow old together. you will not grow old together. you will die a horrible death.
do not fall in love. love is a theoretical term to make you believe in hope. in wind chimes.
your nails will fall off and then your hair and you will shove that razor on the roof of your mouth to feel something far more powerful than a mere fragile skeleton-like boy.
you will not fight for it. listen to me right now. you will fight for yourself and only for yourself.”
“a storm will be named after me one day.
you just wait. the demolition you will cause will be executed perfectly. the lamps will all be broken by the time he enters the front room and you will laugh. your knees will bend and your body will shake.”