Early Morning Bloodshot Mindfuck

by Marrow (as told to Alestar)

So here I am. Fuck this. Fuck it. Fuck walking on air.
Fuck waiting around for your footsteps on stair.
Pretty Pretty got lots waiting around for her there.
Boys
and glass slippers
and other pretty things.
Fuck.

Boys bend and cum and fall asleep.
Glass slippers shatter.
Pretty things wither in winter in shadow in hardship.
Not me.
I wait for soft footsteps. I wait under the stair.
I wait for the chance to put stars in your hair.

You're a cat, right? That's your theme. That's your thing.
And I'm a sewer rat that found light when it sprouted a wing
and came up through the cracks with its heart in a sling.
Literally.
Your wind-riding pal
ripped my heart out.
Trend.

Damn, isn't that romantic?
The play on words there? Fuck.
Why can't you be bloody like everything else?
Like me.
Then I could reach you down here, without wing
instead of trying to prove that even sewer rats sing.

Because they don't, not really. They borrow what people flush
down their fucking commodes. Hope and slush.
They sure as hell never stare into brown eyes with awed hush.
Light's
affecting my brain.
Seratonin poisoning.
Antidote

is simple. I need the darkness.
I want the darkness in you.
Or, better yet, I want you to want the darkness
in me.
That's the only reason to go under the stair,
right? Must be crazy to seek out the sewer rats' lair.
So I'll ruffle your feathers, make you fall from on wing,
down to the sewer, from the light that you cling.
And maybe you won't be the same in the slush,
But at least you'll be mine. The sewer rat's lush.

Fuck.
I wouldn't do that to you.

So I let you pass over the stair, keep my hiding place,
like Billy Goat Beautiful
over a troll's bridge.
A pink troll.
Like those stupid fucking fluffy hair trolls. With the jewels in the their
bellies.
Damn.

I really should stop all that sniffing of glue.
I need to loose some of my reason in you.

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