something from the red book

is it an exercise any more
or has it become an exorcism
an expulsion of "things"
ideas, words, thoughts
pieces of our own personal heaven and hell

I know the meaning of those words
and the ideas they confine
feathery tarts and hoofed masochists
have nothing to do with either
unless of course you'd like to believe

sometimes we need to hear a lie
and most of the time we decide to listen
instead of seeking the truth

ah, see here, this is where it starts to break down
existence spins quietly around oblivion
twice concluded of its own worth
it takes nothing serious because
it isn't serious

bitches and bastards stir stardust into their coffee
it's hard to take it any other way once you've had it
it becomes a drug - like good sex
you want it from the most subconscious of parts

that sweet, sweet comfort of familiarity
self-indulgent to the last drop

can you see it coming?
just out of range and around the corner
what do you see?
what will you say?
what will you do?
do you have a choice?
perhaps...

...and perhaps i'm leading you on
like a $5 whore that can sense an easy lay
just a few steps away with a simple gesture
a seductive smile and all the right words
alluring until the cup is empty and the mirror falls away

you shake off the static haze of copulation
seeing through half-red, half-dead eyes
life is crawling through the stable door

pick up your feet
you're running