My joy is rotting from head to feet, coming after me, but soon I will show my appreciation with a splendid bouquet of blood and entrails, bone fragments and severed limbs. Orchestrated by the chainsaw’s symphony, my joy is relentless, and just can’t keep away.
My joy is a tall blonde that calls itself the end of the world, and it sure is the end of my world, when I share in its frothy embrace. Cool to the touch, yet so warm to the heart. My joy is a traitor, as he can’t help to pay for medical bills when my liver kicks my ass. (or comes out of it, one or the other)
My joy has dark red hair, gently dancing in the wind. His eyes are gray, I look into them and I can’t look away. My joy will never smile at me, but he loves and takes care of me. He cries frozen tears when he must leave, yet they always feel so good when they fall on my cheeks.
My joy has laws to obey, and once we’re done our magical date on the day of the dead, he is saddened that his time is soon to end, and like barren trees hoping to snag a star, he grasps for me helplessly. But he gives me a promise, a gift, through frozen nights of sweet silence, and I know that my joy will return soon to claim me again, and chase away the people and the light.