Mission Statement.

The brief: Write me an elegy. Make me famous. Make me proud to be your right-hand man.

Your lover,

The one who would take you regardless,

Who couldn't protect you

And yet could dream of trying.

Comments: Flies feed on dead carcasses, they coalesce like birds of a feather

To swish and swarm around an elixir of life,

And yet from death comes life,

Worms and maggots emerge from the body,

Like a fervent tongue, picking, poking away at the entrance, hiding, mostly hiding and yet,


Waiting to infect.

This is what you remind me of.

Life born from death

And an ending that seemed so final.

Once in a lifetime and a Phoenix rose so gracefully, so beautifully from the ashes of our bones

To become what is in front of our eyes.

Now we're vampiric,

If you killed me again,

I think I'd burn and burn,

High and dry toward the ceiling,

Never looking back

And dreaming

That I could again rise to the challenge of a miracle.

Let's put a hole through the maggot's eye and cast it into the oceans to drown in a river of my choosing.

Yes, let's.

Method : You reel him in, oh-so-slowly,

You charm him round,

Say the perfect things and


Convince yourself.

Next thing youknow, you're standing alone in his hallway,

Muttering to yourself like a lunatic,

On the brink of tears

Asking yourself whatthef**k you're doing and oneandtwoandthree and


He appears, nonchalant as, winding staircase, living metaphor,

Talk him round, try new things,

Believe him when he calls you beautiful.

It couldn't hurt for one day.

Unless it should.

We're not allowed a conclusion,

A continuation of sorts,

A möbius strip of a continuum

And I'm waiting and waiting and waiting

For time to find us and forget us,

Spit us out as something undelectable and morbid,

Flame-food, charcoal,

Charred hearts and burnt out soliloquys,

Resting on our laurels

Until the decider.

Who will run first?

The End

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