discotheque.
your pages of illegible chickenscratch brain vomit
sit in my skull;
it produces nothing so I take a match to it
dance away the memories in a quiet room
invisible bass beats and hand claps
the rhythm is our daughter
in a church made of flame and nerve endings
staccato speech, staccato notes
you conduct the worst orchestra in history
and you do it with such grace
I'm still dancing as my murder takes place
the crescendo of the symphony is your blade
it kisses my spine and he laughs out loud;
covers his mouth with his hand
you can have your pages of lies back
I won't need them in hell
and neither will you
by Captain Self-Destruct
January 17, 2008