Suck My Lick, AnnaCronym

Resplendant in neons, blazing laser beams of lightning sparks in scorching pink, chlorophyll lime-green, nectarine orange, pool water blue, sunfire yellow and magic violet, dispersing in roman candle death. Sweat licks her thighs down from the creamy depths of a hospital gown brilliant white sundress. From the gritty cement, the view distorts upward. Fisheye lens of perception from the bottom. The beginning line. Cherry red heels cavort over me, stabbing between my ribs in jet mist geysers and for a moment, my heart flies at the brief glimpse of baby blue panties streaking scintillation over my face. Black out. Breaching horizons, the end surpassed. The starting gun is reloaded, drawn and pushing into my spine hard enough to bruise.



Enchanting tongue licks my ear, cupping my jaw with the eye of her elbow, strong arm choke hold pressing provocative on my adam's apple. "Not yet," she imparts breezily. The swell of her breasts push against my back, goading lascivious carnal daydreams. Her penetrating breath sucks my earlobe and sticks its hot tongue pheromones down my throat. Her smile redefines. A death roll to obliterate my bones.

Belief malfunctions. Do you have the time to stuff your fingers in the holes of bursting spike-heeled dance steps and trap the essence before the plume of you siphons from pulsing flesh into the parched porous ground? How can you not? My mind speaks at last, chiming what else but ignorance. The gutters are fucking overfilled with the thin wan blood of the masses. We'd rather not thicken the soup and spice to taste. Make your own sustenance and satiate with personal nutrition is what I told my jackal chef mistress.

OOzing magnetic, she laughs like a holiday. Pistol whip to the back of my head. These stars are dazzling white in black cascading chaos swirls. Spin, spin, spin the black circle.

Tumbling, her voice diagonals down instruction into whispering subconsciousness. "Let it go. ALL of it. Until not a lonesome drop is left. It is all tainted. Every atom. Let it go. Bleed out."

"HorsemanOfTheApocalypse" By: Scumbug

Popping my fingers into the holes between my ribs, I shriek and crack me apart in a coconut shell wet crack. A jack-o-lantern post-Halloween. Break me on the rocks asunder. The ship splinters thunder on the crags of injustice. The tide rolls out in murky green swirls and all eventually is gutted, seeping onto the maple brown silt beach. The sea outgoing leaves me in vampire sands and the never drinks my blood with all else, yet somehow I do not decompress.

Heatwave. Summer is almost here says the sun. The oppressive humidity of southern Georgia bear hugs us all. I am coated in beads of moisture. The filling station blooms with the tawdry aroma of candy, sour gasoline, honeyed oil and salty cooked meats. The scarecrow shells wisp around their metal coffins, inflating rubber stench raised white letters, wiping translucent windshields they will soon stare sleeping through.

Opalescent mirage from the asphalt. The Lovin' Spoonful croons a tinny warble from the vintage boombox. "Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind? Did You Ever Have To Finally Decide?"

Empty, I am coming awake. Slowly. My tired eyes part like sex on lips. The architect stirs from decades long slumber. Driven around and into the ground. A little worse for wear? Maybe a touch. A touch. A touch ignites. A flame is born. I open the cage doors. Two fingers snap an ear-stabbing concussion pitch and rebirth backdrafts into every pore; avalanches in every vein. Midas touch. The world shall not change you anymore. You will change the world. The needle invigorates, climbing steady from E toward F.

Now? "Very soon. Not quite yet, my Love." The gun loosens against my back. Never losing distance between her and I, our skin slides sweltering wet friction in her crushing salacious embrace as she releases my throat and turns me to those tractor beam oceans she calls eyes. Three freckles on her right cheek. Bermuda Triangle. Her kiss is wet moist, hungry hard and soft inviting. Her tongue tastes like fresh air sliding sultry. I vibrate cinnamon becoming every transformative blissful punishing growling guitar riff ever hammered out and many yet to be. I'm faintly aware when the starting gun fires into the air as closed eyes glow to crimson from dark. I can hear/feel the weight hit the ground, spent, by my right foot as my bottom lip finds it's way between her toothy clutch and her new free arm pulls me tighter against her hips.

I comply willfully and the clocks turn molasses.

X marks the spot at the crossroads. Selling or buying? I have a song to sing. Crawling out of a burning bed, I'll burn the house to cinders and kill the Devil himself. Trade in flesh or soul. I laugh at the trick. Leave your wallet on the dresser motherfucker.