ANTI-ANAPHORA: pt. 4 - м*же

 LIONHEART

I wore the bruises on my inner thighs with pride

a black eye like a medal to show all

when you broke my jaw I thought

"he hit me and it felt like a kiss"

I could smell cherries on your breath when you got drunk

meth and pregabalin

tramadol, heroin, junk punk

dirty foils and feathers from your angel wings

all over our bed, playing my heartrings

like a heavenly harp

I lived in hell with an angel, mama

a Venus boy incarnate

I lived right in the city centre 

of Scorpiotown with an abuser

and I loved it, and I loved him

I'm in rehab writing about you

I don't know if you're alive still

PUPPY BOY

Връщаме се от Автономията.

аз летя сред захарни облаци,

плувам във водите на прегабалина,

целуват ме трамадолени херувими,

нямаме пет лева за такси,

нямаме пет лева за цигари,

но имаме три за водка

а в нея ще удавиш

споделената ни депресивна дупка.

Ние сме гарвани,

аз и ти сме в хладна яма

Господ рови в гробовете

и ни вдига рано сутрин

В кризи. Голи. В мръсните ти

чернобели чаршафи. Ти трепериш,

делириум тременс. Аз агонизирам,

получавам гърчове. Трябват ни стотинки

и разходка до люлинска денонощна аптека

за да продължим да умираме.

JUNKIE FELL INLOVE AGAIN

He a beacon of sober

he a cleanliness god

skinny limbs under

hair black as night

kisses my forehead 

I flutter like flies.

Don't let him see

this is fleeting

he's not for me

he's got a girlfriend

devilfaced, all dark and handsome

oh I hate myself

so pure and wholesome

this friendship

I envy her so much

all pretty in a white dress

all blonde and angelic

I'm too dead for him

he's too alive for a junkie like this

too mentally ill

I'll never love again

ANTI-ANAPHORA: 

a junkie lives trough Hell and survives to tell the story. Suicide and prostitution and heroin and broken hearts and queerness and the death of a partner and a crush on a rehab worker and cupcakes under the red lights of the strip club. Amphetamine, a million pills and methadone mix up with years of goth and kinderwhore scene experience to birth a new identity as a sober person that collides with itself yet somehow manages to crack the old and worn out. Self-hate and pride both dictate the narrative.