Le processus créateur

I come back to it.
It haunts me and I sing its praises and touch its genitals. [draw a sharp breath]
And it haunts me.

I’m a junkie and I lick at it
Caress it [scream]
And it haunts me. [pound]

Oh, god, I can’t stop [darkness]
Ignore all that I see
All that I want
All that I am [laughter]

In order to become…
To be [cotton]
To come [white]
On it. [it]

Because it motherfucking haunts me;
I can’t stop.
Oh, please, help me. [fake]
Help me to shed the skin.
To draw to a close. [damning]
To deny the colors and the stroke,
To force back the semen. [push]

Crying in the night and she laughs at me,
Yellow and green and emboldened,
Drawing straight, disembodied. [horror]

It haunts me
Ha! Don’t you see it? Can’t you see it? [see]
It’s in my face, it’s in my dreams; [snap]
It IS my dreams,
It is my waking reality,
It haunts me [quiet]

Past the shadows
And the blur [and the stink of unwelcome, hot breath on my neck]