the first phase

we are
the type
of people
that will lose
consciousness
in the arms
of alcohol's
breath.

and yes,
we must forget
about the drugs,
and the pretty girls
with shiny knives,
for
the time being.

if anything,
we have created ourselves
perfectly fucked,
in an image
that is more fitted
to us.

we are this,
the canvas,
and this skinny piece
of white paper,
folded
at the knees.

you
and me,
we will be lucky enough
to die
one day,
but my god,
we will die
with our hearts
dissected
on that proper steel
table.

it's that way,
and i promise that
nothing else
will kill us.

and when
they ask about
us,
long after
our bones
are nothing
but compost,
with some type
of bent halo,

we will laugh,
believing
that we were
some type
of god,
making belief
on this
stale earth.