She used to run
her fingernails
down my sternum
all the way
to the bottom of my belly,
one little snake
tickling me
as she split me open,
and her jelly-smelling hair
coiled in jet-black
against my shoulders,
and her
amazonian lips
made my heart muggy,
so what I did
after she stopped splitting me open,
after she stopped
making trips from my heart
to my lower intestine,
is that I went to the coldest place
in the world,
but even then
I was warm with her constriction,
warm in the coldest places
warm without distinction.

So much sadness
resides
in my palms.

I rest my head there
in a pose of thought.

I position the gun of my mind
against the bomb
of my heart.

Pleasure
is demise,
pleasure
is a plea,
pleasure
is the last reply
of the day,
pleasure
is
what it isn't.

Because what really happens
when those endorphins
start grinding on the thighs of your veins,
is that you are feeling
pain that makes
the softness of her skin
hurt your lips with happiness.

So this is a poem of love,
didn't start that way,
just like pleasure
begins with bruised
wrists
and dehydrated lips.

The beat
for the party of pleasure
bumps in the heart
timing itself by a melancholy metronome.

I'm patiently waiting
for a gift
from Satan,
or the heaven's above,
something to get me
through this,
this little pearl
of wisdom
makes me push for it
through self-derision,
so when I say
that
I got the seed
for the next
demon
in my sack,
I'm telling you
that I'm at the lowest
point
of the world,
the deepest
heaven,
a heaven
of pain,
and malicious
thoughts
birthing
something vicious,
I want you to understand,
that I need
a few wishes,
a genie
'needs to start doling
out pearls
instead of blazing palaces
and
some federal loans,
I can do nothing
with the biggest houses; the biggest debt
I have to pay
is my pain
which is boiling underneath
my skin,
and it doesn't feel
like God is listening
or handing out grants
with my name
in gold ink.

Touch me with your love
and I might touch your temples
with a fist
and in its grimy depths
there is salvation
that can get you and me both
out of this
heaven of pain.

The way I memorialize
a woman's heart
against my own,
is by pointing
to the scars she has left
on my heart
in my moments of solitude.

Like the wounds
on sharks during
mating,
I hold close
those moments
when I sank my teeth in
and when she sank
into me.

So
when
they
ask
me:

"Would you have done
anything differently,
now that you see how it
turned out?"

And I say:
"No."

I cherished those moments
when your placed your mouth
on my heart
and squeezed with
perfect teeth.

Man I *******
hate college,
only reason that I'm here,
is because I had a choice,
Marines?
or
College?
So I made the decisions,
most before me
have taken.

Taken on
the burden
of the
"free world"
and leveraged
our futures
against
loans
against six percent interest,
so what do we know,
what are we trying to
become,
don't we see
the ill-fated futures
of our televised
and re-digitized
lives.

Get them to hate me,
that's how I get
over heartbreak,
that and drinking Wild Turkey,
smoking Marlboros
and ******* off my family,
is how i make it through every
one,
even the real sun-filled days
with girls of skin made of coffee-colored ultra-violence.