Fingers like tiny angels moving along her back, breaking off her naked body like waterfalls. She cannot feel it but her spine twists inside, making her ribs pierce through her cold porcelain skin. Her skin sheds ashes in her wake, like kicking the crud off of a cigarrette. She climbs back to her feet and stumbles back to life to breathe once again. As she ascends in her cloud of locusts, all life under her wilts like time. She is the essence of death.

Every chance you ever had to save the world has been flushed into the ocean. The earth is killing itself slowly, writing its suicide note in the sky. Red skies tonight, we sail into the middle of the earth tomorrow. Christ is warning the christeners that the ocean is the earths blood flowing away. Baptisms in a restroom sink. Orgasms between brother and sister. Martyrdom is extinct. Life is Black Comedy. Living is dying backwords.The world is being aborted from our mother galaxy. Stars are falling and comets stop. Friend and foe rejoice. Hearts are breaking and eyes go blind. We are a peon in the cunt of existence. Tonight we drink red wine. Tonight we fuck ourselves.

Great Rio-- Viewing the depths of the Atlantic from a moon pool. A summer with sharks; the lawyers of the ocean. A vacation in paradise. Hell is black, twenty thousand leagues under the sea. Santacruz is sinking. The aquatic world watches us from below. Gods we are in this world. A beautiful mermaid swimming with the eels will meet me halfway between two worlds. There is a point where we can no longer tread and only observe the area we've covered. This city is asleep with the dolphins.

The cosmic eruptions in your eyes, melt the cartilage from my bones. Without joints I am unable to support the world in my hands: it falls alongside my body. Without spinal cord, injury to the brain must be direct, without fail. Without blood, intervenous foul-play is limited to sadomasichism. Without air, lungs are just ornaments inside of the ribcage. Every grain of sand inside of an hourglass loses all of its purpose once the time has run out. Every color runs past the shades, moving in time-- they are mixing with darkness, and melting in a pot. Death is a bitter taste in yellow, white and red but it takes two to know, its the spirit of nature. I am a tree, a fungus in the tree, sprouting into the ground with my arms flying around. My head has absorbed all the chemicals of your birth and the essence in the tree.

The evidence---all the paraphenelia to burn my soul waiting for my tongue to tie from spitting lies. The space between my eyes burns like wax and seeps through my skull like time, waiting to take pictures with just my mind. Could I have been created by god to be destroyed by man? I'm thinking that I am the evidence, so now is the time to end the devils life in me. When I appear before my very own eyes--- my camera lens inside records myself, appearing as a figure in black that laughs back at my body. I can watch you be destroyed, if I imagine it like it was real. Fly beyond the punctured roof, for the heavens that I speak of, are only there to protect us from the dark.