aneasthetised & neutered, when I take it there's that languid listlessness, a peace of mind. Mainly artificial.
When I don't
sleep doesn't come as willingly
as ideas.
Millions of fawning muses sluttling up to me,
thin pale boys with twinkling eyes whispering sweet crazy nothings at my ears;
do it
get the scissors
pick the pens up
where's the tape
find asemble kiss kiss lick tickle bite. scratch giggle...
They press themselves against my back, it's tough to find sleep when you're distracted by like that
I should take advantage of ideas when they're not playing hard to get. It's so cold in my bones but I like this frenzy of ecstatic ideas pressing in on me.
I like it like this apparently.
You're not depressed, you're just creative.
I love these easy ideas & I'll let them seduce me, well...
the pretty ones & the interesting ones, fuck it...
all of them
they can all have me
and I'll wake up alone.
I'm their fucking whore
but I love them, I love it
I still want more
I'm weird & I'm wired
and a whore for a metaphor.
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3 comments:
does being a whore for a metaphor mean getting paid in analogies? i'm in.
sometimes analogies, usually just whatever they give you, it's dirty and cheap, but sometimes it's hot so you don't care as much about the pay as just enjoying the process...
yeah its easy to be seduced in this world full of long limbed creative fawns and such n such...
"I like it like this apparently."
-blew my mind
xx
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