Every Monday morning, I pray you have a good week
Every evening, I pray you fall in to a sound sleep
Every Friday, I pray your weekend will be safe
Every Sunday, I pray you are in a peaceful place
And sometimes, when I’m feeling selfish, I pray you will be mine again
An atheist caught in a cycle of prayer.
kill me on a bed of roses, fuck me in a bath of blood
I seriously want to fuck until I die. I could be having sex inside of the explosion of the sun and my focus would be on cumming and not dying.
The fantasy has consumed my being and has become my life. I live, breath, and eat the fantasy. I cannot pursue the fantasy. The fantasy, however, has pursued me. How do I shed myself of the fantasy? Death is on my mind. Death lingers on the end of tongue. Death tingles on my fingertips. Death whispers in my ears and leaves an odor in my nose. Death wraps me up in its arms at night and coddles me while I rest. I’m all consumed by the fantasy. I am the fantasy. I have become the fantasy. The fantasy has become me.
I am in love with the fantasy. I was dating the fantasy. I was engaged in the fantasy. Now, I am married to the fantasy. I have taken vows with the fantasy. The fantasy and I meet each other down the aisle. We kiss at the end of a lovely ceremony. The fantasy and I are now man and wife. We go on a honeymoon. We make love all night. The fantasy and I, til’ death do us part. The fantasy is death though. The only way to escape the fantasy is to pursue the fantasy. I do not want to pursue the fantasy, but I already have. I want to divorce the fantasy. I want to escape the fantasy. I already vowed to the fantasy. The fantasy and I, til’ death do us part.
But death is the fantasy…
I am in love with death. I was dating death. I was engaged to death. Now, I am married to death. I have taken vows with death. Death and I meet each other down the aisle. We kiss at the end of a lovely ceremony. Death and I are now man and wife. We go on a honeymoon. We make love all night. Death and I, til’ death do us part. Death is death though. The only way to escape death is to pursue death. I do not want to pursue death, but I already have. I want to divorce death. I want to escape death. I already vowed to death. Death and I, til’ death do us part.
In my ideal death, I will be a martyr for all hoes. Hoe in this context is not one to be seen as negative, but as a neutral term simply referring to those who engage in frivolous sexual activity or promiscuous behavior. Therefore, any negative connotation previously attached to the word hoe or attached to the view of sexual expression or said promiscuous behavior must be dismissed.
Continuing on with the thought of my ideal death, I will pursue my martyrdom. In the ideal death, I find myself surrounded by all the men of my past: ex boyfriends, ex boos, ex hookups, ex flings, etc. However, they are taking part in a distinct act which is viewed as relatively taboo—a circle jerk. While the men of my past all surround me in a communal act of masturbation, I sit in the center shrouded by white. Donning a sheer white veil and white teddy, I rest as they proceed. Upon climax, the men release cum on me masturbating endlessly until I am drowned in their ejaculate. My death is ultimately the result and I rise to the after life in a glow of liberation.