paranoid android

and i dream of being a singer. being that thing with the tooth-decay-flavoured bellyache and eyes that smile and mouth that quivers (switch off the lights) watching over the glutted strain of stares that pierce with sensual sour-tasting hand-trembling agony (the shoes that kick) and dark bodies that push and pull and shove and squeeze and squash in beautiful twisted everlasting love (in the dry smell of cold rubber and pore-minimizing camera angles) i want to be the one to play with your wishes and toy with your secrets and twiddle with your sensations • to crush the time outside the walls (to say i love you 20 different ways) • to knead your brain to a hysterical mush and rip open your nerve endings • to stretch your throbbing veins and nail them to a wall and slice them with a razor • to bite into the dizzy smoke with pearly teeth and army pants and a bastard sneer (i mean an elfin smile) • to strum the pressure-strings of your picture-perfect daydreams and electrocute your pain with throttling grinning blinding childish feedback and freeze your acid scream with a convulsive shock-riff • to make you swallow the sweet stream of sleepy heady warm weakness and drown your last wish in a final oozing crystal water chorus of grim green affection until you forget to feel and choke on sound (because i am dreadfully frightened) because i am a lost child who wants to sing • sting • burn • explode.





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