))))((((

Does it matter?

Can you hear my name?

Who am I?

....the withering light of a dead star....

Careful.

Please....don't....

I'll always love you no matter what.

Your blood is tasty.

I can't even remember why this hurts so much....

You said you could handle it.

You have a flower garden in the backyard?

So what happened?

I don't want to be anyone's nostalgic tragedy.

Can you tell me who I am?

))))((((

Blue sky. Silver rings around a giant ghost white swirl planet peeks partially across the Sanctuary horizon. Meteors like thousands of silver slippers rain across the atmosphere. Burn like the targe revenge of a Defarge harridan. Ruby red field glitters in the reflection of such psychotropic Capricorn. Muerte licks sanguine. Watches such catastrophic event with one eye rolling the depths behind her mind. Watches herself watch herself.

Focuses on the two slain revenants. Such useless science. Their glitches won't glitch. Their plan was folly. Can't have what they thought in such a way.

Munches on Judith's brain. Epistemology whistles unending hums behind the fruit of such eschatological feeding. No flies dare suck at any sugar.

Record player crackles like an ancient stylus needle upon shellac.

"So this is the real Judith. The naked reality. A partial corpse not even decently underground."

Muerte stands over their hollow chest head corpses. Shivers as the world above harkens at oblivion. Everything groans like the prophetic rumbling strings of a gloomy Hondo Rickenbacker 4001.

Black hairs goosebump electric half a second. Fizzle. Calm.

No fight was given. Both stood still of her to eat their valentines and thinkers. Such anticlimax.

Tastes their vaccine blood. Powerful revenants. The most powerful. Knows they'll survive past such butchering. Still. Fools. Both silly optimistic fools.

Electric goosebumps stand like tiny hairy erections caught in itty bitty pleasant torture devices.

The Judith's face stares invert. Mushy crease crater. Rests like a butchered horizon against the collapsing reality. Chest-less atop the bone saw man in a way which makes an imagining of Christ broken through the spokes of an iron wheel an instead. Distant trees sway like a Vox Phantom IV Special caught in the noose of a microphone cord. All the strings flop their ancient post punk tendons. Stigmata elbow fracture knee. Cavity of thoracic cage like a torn out 14-inch Gretsch snare drum. Lays like the remains of two lovers on a....on a...

))))((((

This isn't living!

Maybe you'll stick around this time.

...we've missed you.

He won't stop.

What did you say?

You killed him...

...is alive.

Not a day goes by...

I love your eyes...

...I'll protect you until my dying breath.

...once a bitch, always a bitch.

You're worth it.

Knows this is the end.

Time for what time it is.

...no...oh...no...

))))((((

Electric like a hardwood mallet hitting cleats onto Nietzsche's ARP Solina String Ensemble hammer.

Lips slurp. Chews wet. Comestible hate. Torn apart like the routine of so called love. Yet tastes such piquant seasoning in a eroticism of sorts. Fuggy thoughts like a bar stool moment of swinging laughter among strangers who were once recognizable. Vodka splashes thin cloth. Bodies whistle orgy. Douses of sweaty skin slaps. Are such memories or imaginations? Both? No. Judith's memories? Yes. The party house. Before Michael Leonard.

Crawls upon the graveyard girl. Licks the remains of her forehead. Tastes such victim like nothing her words have born witness. Beyond the prison of her soul. Curious. Stands uply abrupt.

Electric heat gyrates like a vibrator implant upon the favourite sensitive fucking spot. Shocks spill everywhere around such vicinity.

Pulls Judith's carcass off the bone saw man. Drags the dead horse by such tasty bare feet a meter-ish away. Whiffs toes. Licks. Can't find the ideas to describe such scent. Reason can't interpret the sense of such happenings in the manifold. God of the gap. Positions her body. Crouches. Scissors hairy loins upon the still warm copper nether of Judith. Dead leg flops. Rubs crotch against crotch. Dips left hand into chest cavity for a grip of vermillion balance.

Electric. Body hairs erect. Long black mane shivers. Raises. Static.

Loin to loin. Snarls sanguine. Atoms of poppies please her manner. Such pleasings of hatred. Moans of a crisp needle-deep record player voice. Smiles like colonial voices mocking the genocide in a canned hunt concentration camp.

"I'm using you like an animal uses its teeth, fairy godmother."

Rubs loins against Judith's dead loins. Faster moist harder. Judith's juices excrete. Slick scissor sex pours. Smells like the imaginings of unknown words. Unkown languages. Like no such scent will ever be experienced by any thinking creature again.

The graveyard girl's broken spoke elbow rises. The hand moves swift. Grasps a clump of Muerte's nether hair. Tears such out. Tip toe fingers reach and circle such clitoris. Press. Round and round and round like the dead horses which forever watches everything pass by on the Godiva stage of a carousel. Forces orgasmic engorgement.

Electric. Erect hairs burn like tiny birthday sparklers on a cake. Can almost hear people singing. Her scalp of black hair burns off. All the hair of her body disintegrates. Sizzle and black smoke echo off smooth snow bald flesh.

Muerte suffers unkown pleasure in such burn and scent and the fiddle digits of a dead Judith. Eyes roll in two directions. Poppies smile into her landscape like wallpaper. In the sweetest voices they say, "hello Terra."

Feels a resurrection beneath herself. Feels that particular Terra grasp the tendrils of the abyss. Alice says something that means nothing to Muerte. Lord beckons in that particular Terra's thoughts as she tries to climb the spine into what Muerte must soon be forced to release. It seems like maybe their fool plan will bare fruit after all. Hearts and brains and poppies, oh my.

Whispers, "motherfuckers."

Shadows stew underneath her rumpus loin rub rails. Climbs up through her skin. Tingles. Eyes roll and unroll faster and faster. Feels hands clasp at the fidgets of her body's inner workings. Her malachite gravity portal lights up. Silhouettes form everywhere around. Legions of glowing green eyes open. Knows life's but a walking shadow. Idiots. Her life seems like it always was another's interpretation, like a protagonist with no chapter of her own. Like the rule of a Calvinist upon her everyday freedoms. She's no say in the matter. But that's not true. She did. This time she did. For a time. Smiles into herself. Had her itty bit of fun. Hatred dissipates. Fades into tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

))))((((

I got all dolled up for you.

You need sunshine, my girl.

...wake up in the world your memory is situated in...

Wake up and be free.