No One Knows by Adam Perry
(Cover
artwork by Jeff Perry)
And we ran
to the beach just before dawn.
We stared
the mad children right in their eyes
And one of
the hybrids reached his hand to me,
Revealing
the heart of a pig.
And when I
looked at the sky again,
It was
looking back at me,
For once,
its face red with anger,
And the
moon melted into the Sea.
We revealed
chaos to our maker—
Lit the
fire beneath His curiosity and stammered,
“We’re
still here.”
And I felt
a pain in my stomach,
Like the
time the færies playfully filled my shirt.
But when I
looked down I saw
The tip of
your knife had pushed through from behind,
But not all
the way.
You twisted
it a few times to make sure.
And when I
turned round to see you smile,
I saw that
the brilliant light of the new sun
Shined not
in your eyes, but through them,
And through
your mouth as well. We laughed and laughed,
And I died.
Oh, but I
still saw you, I still knew what you did.
And when
your face was full of blood and tears,
I pushed
open your thighs and made you remember me.
The beach
was no longer cold at night after I left—
Now the
white-hot sand burned and blistered your feet,
And the sun
sparkled in your eyes
Where
pupils had once been.
And when
you tried to come back,
When you
tried to knock on my window
after all
those years,
A voice
called from the clouds,
And you
knew where to go—where to wait.
And when
you stepped aboard that ship of fools
And drank
their wine,
The water
drained from the Sea,
And the
moon showed itself once again from beneath.
Yes, the
sirens of Babylon wailed,
But when
the door opened, you declined.
SUCK TO
BREATHE
There's
been a murder. It's a shame—
things were
really starting to shape up.
“She
came right up to the doorway,
laughed,
and used two hands to pull the knife down my back.”
It made her
lustful and wet with inspiration.
I'm
compelled to shiver and finally come through,
my sick
skin burning then
melting in
favor of this spotted shell;
out in the
world like a bad dream, pages crumble.
Countless
places poorly armed whisper a
concrete
chance at New Jerusalem—I've tried to hide it.
Memories
granting naked spaces one at a time,
feeling
warm in the frozen desert evening.
Unaccustomed
to lovers making promises,
conversation-washing
pardons stumbling down
streets of
gold,
and hearts
warmed by fornication.
My skull
cracked and I couldn't breathe,
hands
purple with envy.
The
imagination ran away and onto a page;
I was a
little shocked when she hiked up her skirt
and let me
in for the ride of my life.
Silence
robbed me of circumstance but never passion.
It doesn't
make sense to me—
like it's
pushed through my body from somewhere else,
somewhere
unknown, but
somehow
formulating into a subject.
Heaving
silver stars into a network of cold souls
wounded and lost—
a ghostly
sanity will juxtapose a sweet undertow.
I need to
suck on this to survive.
I can feel
her in my fingers, shaking/trembling
and
experiencing hot flashes of an alcoholic demise—
her cunt
feeds me freedom.
Has it
changed?
"I
wish I was there to give you a huge hug right now.
This isn't working."
Damage to
the skin and jubilant white light break
through a
coffin
buried
beneath a cringing pool of toil and blood.
She's
admittedly red with happiness and excitement.
I'm
exploring this contempt and relaying a
still-beating
heart
that was handed
to me by Jehovah
in an
effort to put a muzzle on his choir.
He's pissed
that I'm a failure.
I was on
cloud nine.
There's
been a security breach—I'm hungover and hung up.
She's a
free spirit at my expense.
There are
painful screams coming from inside the auditorium
and blood
has been spilled over the floor.
Her best
guess was
“Dr.
Filth did it in the little boy's room with the microphone.”
“It
was only the best night of my life.”
“Of my life.”
Go to hell.