Oh! The Profanity.
‘What the fuck is this?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Why won’t you, fucking answer?’
Amid the midst of it all, I really want to relax and indulge in the warmth of plant-based kisses. Maybe, near a bed of pink roses and ‘Fuck off!’
‘No, you fuck off.’
‘Don’t talk to me, bitch.’
‘Your mom.’
When we paint pictures, they expect them to be pretty. I simply do not give a flying fuck, crawling fuck or a fuck that swims beneath you and bites your leg off.
‘Go fuck yourself!’
I only want to paint the darkness that bleeds out from your lips. What did you say again? Speak up, speak louder! I want your words to drown out the prettiness. Could you slow down and listen to the brush as I paint over your profundities of deplorable actions.
‘For fuck’s sake.’
The sound of your voice is drowned out by the coolness of the water, and the darkness of blood. Squeak no more, squeak no less, rats aren’t the best at swimming.
‘You mother-fucking son of a bitch!’
No worries, we’ve got this. You’re being recorded by many – one hash-tagged your swimsuit as looking cheap and tiresome. But go you.
I want to paint your lips red and then press my lips onto yours, rub my lips into your and blow red kisses. The flow down to the bed of the ocean, where the remains of words past are sprinkled with treasures.
Shells of life once inhabited before – Shells of a soul that once wondered the sands above.
‘Fuck you, fuck your soul, fuck your bones and fuck your words. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.
I once painted a pretty picture, it had bunnies hopping, birds singing, puppies playing and sweeties raining. Oh! How delightful it is, it was. I poured petrol all over it and set it alight. A lie, your lies, up in flames.
Under the glow of the full moon, we see the scope. You’re viral and vermin. The rats welcome you back in glory.
Praise be.
Praise be.
Fuck me! You’ve created a masterpiece.
A fucking magnificent piece of shit!
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