السبت، 2 يونيو، 2012

Mental




temple of love.


she was witched, everything was looking great. Screams, helper=skelter down the stairs, tear my hair…rip up any I Hate Myself and Want to Die, Kurt Cobain the `poster Boy, is always spiralling down  the stairs. Abandon mascara, never use kohl, straighten hair, Hell straightens hair,

its all looking good.

Screech.

Screeching, not screaming.

Tell a joke.

Love and Hope;

magical. everything was fine. 

One Echo;

"Sweetie?"

Helter Skelter…

Don't want white, don't want flair.

Want my own clothes.

not flares. you didn't know. Flares are 2007-10.

Fascist is IN.

Bright colours are fairy.

Don't want them. No thanks.

Crying, weeping. Will not save. All your prayers (Temple of Love, Sisters of Mercy)

---

In souls, angels weep. Kurt is dead.

I am dead.

"There you go!"

That b***** reminded me of the Angel of Hope. 

A High Security ward; A classroom. One old Viking King, long red and gold beard, fast cigarettes, at the window.

"We have died, and this is All Heaven. Save US!"

I said to the King;

"You must have wonders, you must see. Heaven has sheltered us. We are Free."

I spin form the window to the cackling women, everyone is smoking. What an odd heave, white doors are all locked. But:

"We are all dead. !!"

All my hope was resting on freedom. I wrote her a farewell, or a an escape note;

"There you go Mannie!!" pen on the whiteboard next to a unicorn.

I had a paradise, the african women that sat outside my door, had a special perfume. A smell of Africa. Like some tiny princess.

They gave me an ecstasy pill. I awake in the sunshine the glorious sunshine. 

My nose ring had slipped out and spread up my nose into my brain in the night. 

Now I could pick up radio-signals.

They didn't care that i had cheap metal stuck inside my nose-brain.

The amount of the sunshine, equalled the amount of joy, there wasn't a garden, there was a walled small lawn surrounded by windows. Still, the sunshine. The Glorious High.

My little brother.

He would walk from one end of corridor, just to the stop-line of the girl's section. 

"My little muslim brother! I am muslim!!! How are you!! my little brother!!"

They wanted to kill me in the smoking room, still i let them kill. 

The smoke God turned blue. Wonder of spiralling magical blue smoke.

---
If she screamed Im happy. But;

She Glorious'ed.

"never die, never die, I am here."

I found the African perfume, in her new house. It was situated in the corridor.

"So I was mistaken. I thought they were Holy..."


Who cared?

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