i cannot see how love can any longer fit within this world. apotheosis has long since passed by my window white with the lights of the lovers and the cities and the cars; the audacity of passion challenges the horizon of this city: unborn but dying, even if i drunk up the moon and lay bare in front of the bulging chest that you call love, i would declare: this is the most beautiful farce, it has become ancillary to breathe into each other. you demand too much bravery when i bask in your lacking tenderness, i know it is all arbitrary, i am a secular profanity and i will fuck you as a form of agnosticism i will fuck you and you will think you have won. but i have marched across bloody footprints, smouldering like the ashes of a cigarette it is rebellion and oblivion, simultaneously choking, i think you held my hand, once, it felt cathartic to pretend you could love me, but my stomach aches with the faking of orgasms, unburnt and premature - i take myself to confession. nihilistically i have prayed knowing that my only sin was loving you when i did not