Genetic Make-Up. (Always Wanted Another Reality More Then This)

the dead are pulling my hair.
smoking the life out of me,
digitalizing my laughter.
i'm ready for the slaughter.

it's dangerous being this
out of touch
and into touching.
the burgandy falling out of
my wrists,
i'm qualified for platinum american
express card.
charges running through my sex.

there's nothing else i can do.

blood dripping off the tips of your
hair.
shushing me when i cooed "god's wine".
like we were hidden.
Ouch-less and pressed.

i wish we could have had
that beautiful beach bed.
the surf off my shoulders
and your freckles on your nose.

daydreams are useless
and all that i am.