I use to be something, a little… well I don’t know what it used to be— once wounded, all wounded; kept from getting bloody, but couldn’t refuse to bleed–

I use to see the people, the broken children who looked bigger; try to explain the state– but knew not I, of the truth that walked by, that even at eight, their mind would just blank– And if only I knew how I fucked with mental orbits, to cause the models to forfeit, and it only got worse with a consort of the gorgeous

But I am not the guy, to tell you in the eye, this heart has always been heard distorted; it’s like staring at the sun–

but how long have you been blinded, in that gap behind the eyelid; I am a lawless tyrant, but now tyrant of the law– just wearing one like a garment, an agreement until we parted; so, that deep down in the yard, past the trees with the strange moving humming birds; and the neighbor’s dogs offering me their hand in marriage

AND THESE WERE MY WEDDING VOWS.

BUT FIRST A TOAST;

Now dear Cody was a strange one, we always thought he’d hang up, the phone or on a tree– because he likes trees and hates phones, but digs telepathy and the inner tantric rites of Isis upon Lilith, and Sophia was the boss; and those three, as four if crossed; but now he doth hopped the fence, hopping out of his yard back into his yard; in what once was a mirror– and it’s not that pride caused suffering, but separation caused a fear, and what hid beauty; thou knew as evil, and what pleasure it would it be to know the fear of god. May his last days be final!

The vows:

He would speak his vows, but mumbles in her presence– he knew he would die if he kissed her, but with her, of him he was jealous; and behind the essence, was the one who he vowed to avoid, and that what himself in her, so that he denied himself, so that she could accept him, and not deal with freaking unity consciousness, because classy fucks don’t live trends– Vow #1 WE LIVE DEARLY. AND A THOUSAND PEARLS WOULD I STRING UPON YOUR LOTUS– Vow #2 try not to ask you to explain yourself, where there is no self to be explained. Vow #3 for every 10 hours a day I leave, forty hours I give thee, or in essence because 49 hours around the sun, just ain’t fifty.

#Vow four, and the only one I thought of; That you my love, I accept you in totality; but please god damn it, be gentle.

She would speak her vows, and the beauty that would make the blind see; could not be directly referred to, so I refer to her back in the garden, where I was picked by a five petal rose; and I would I cut my self, 5 times over; lay 3 drops upon each petal in a row, just to show; that 5 brilliant colors hide black, and 15 drops would turn the road red, so that the black rose is a red rose in fact. And the philosopher’s stone, would arise and express our agreement, and this brilliant white, would redden in achievement; but that inside a gentle pink, though red like; would reach head high as the red-light district shun within. And that he knew himself, and married ignorance; and so, himself be born. So, that soon he would know about his own death, cuz the petals did bring thorns.

Live, die, live, die, this guy… what is he on? And did he come back with the sun in his pocket? And four hours later he would knock unconscious, though no one noticed his smile was cosmic. And the rainmaker does cometh, and cometh tobacco like a cloud, and have you never ate the fruit before the fruit was ready? And so, the vow was law, you reap what you sow, so keep it slow and steady. At least for the honey moon.