Scriptures to a dead nation

"I can't wait to get out of here"
There was an urgency in his voice as each word fell over the other in their daring escape.
There was a genocide in her mouth and it cried for vengeance.
Their solace would not be found.

I never used to pride myself in my use of key-holes but there I was still panting heavily as I witnessed a rainbow of sounds and textures.
A long thin white cloth hung from the ceiling held a noose and inside it was a brush.
A brush I had used the previous day, it was a helping hand for me and the white picket fence had no holes.
A picturesque statue, the famed cat-woman on the prowl searching for her litter.
A generation of blind mole-like creatures had entered the world. Relying on a sense of smell and the colour of life.
They seeded the earth and the earth gave an orgasmic quiver.
Soon s/he would erupt in a violent convulsion of his/her anus.

A penetrative thought entered and searched for a long lost love of words and agility.
I wanted so to reach the finishing line but instead I wasted away with my tea and cakes.
It is such a sad moment when you have to give up your children, even worse when you get nothing but a ball of yarn to comfort you.
The kitten has claws and they tear the flesh, the blood flows freely and organises colonies across my body.
The rhythmical dancing of the tribe shamans build a rising flow of molecules. Outside myself I create a new body, free of thought, emotion and drive.
I pray to thee, I don't know who, Jesus Christ I hope...

It is a tentacle invading every orifice of my cerebral cortex. It mutates my biomechanics so that my electric webbing catches not flies but but but but flutterbies.
The flea may bite and the dog my howl as a cat may sing and a owl will growl.
Exchange of loving sentiments, a mother caressing her sons hair.
Exchange of loving sentiments, a father caressing his daughters hair.
It is a smell I will never forget, a smell you have under your nose at every waking moment and pray it will go away as the aerosol fumes burn your skin. Smoking flesh and still the shaman dances and sings.

She never gave what she got and never loved what she had she never wanted what she hated and continued to prance about and flinging her excrement across her shoulder hoping that it would never reach her god. Her mother of course lent a helping hand and continually bent over backwards and screamed. The god the god the god the god the god the god was mine and mine and mine and mine and his his his his loving loving loving loving loving caressing and making my stutter so much worse. Fuck me and leave me dry so that when the rain finally falls I might finally sprout something other than a decaying body that cannot move a mountain across the vast desert of a growing field.

The cat maliciously chases a mouse, not malicious because she intends to eat it but because the chase is the thrill and it is a never ending pull and grab. The tail never breaks and the hair never rises as high as the clouds gliding across a pale moon sky, dark blue like the deep waters where the fish grow their corn.
A living breathing industry, not breathing air of course but oxygen.
Industrial chemical warfare is not on the hands of the poor or the rich but on the hands of the little cockroaches, little do they know that cockroaches do not die, tests have been made, we have tried stabbing them, hanging, bombing, poisoning and over feeding. Nothing will kill them and they will outlive humans a thousand times over.

As I panted and panted and panted I noticed my pants had not been loosened, the hooker had died from pre-coital exhaustion. The steam built up on the window, it made little droplets and they ran across the window, not vertically but horizontally. The finishing line was the edge of my mouth and as the droplets catapulted away from the window towards my face I took a moment to close my eyes and enjoy the thought and taste of their massacred bodies and lives blood between my teeth. But, alas, faced with the horror of what was to come the droplets changed their trajectory in mid flight and changed position with airborne dust-mites. The taste, I was to find, would be dry, bitter and full of sorrow.

The sorrow had its own colour which tinted the colour of my eyes. No longer were my eyes the shocking grey and yellow but a meld of love, light and peace.
I would never find happiness again.