Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Duality

Nothing.


disturbing distasteful
disgusting disgraceful
everything about you
makes me sick

you're an ill bitch
you make me sick
into your slit
you make me trip
stay there till my mind rots
throw down roots while my body rocks


Something.

May the dance floor rise to meet you:
May the bass be always at your back,
The strobes shine warm upon your face,
The mists fall soft upon your fields,
And until we meet again
May the Rave hold you in the hollow of its hand.

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