My captivating is your nauseating:
That arresting moment of pure terror just before the daring lion delves into the laughing hyena, no longer laughing, gutting him clean of vital life force.
My captivating is your revolting:
Going to sleep in a bed filled with dead particles of flaked off skin, little mites, alive and awake, strangely satisfying to not be completely alone and yet alone, with myself.
My captivating is your repugnant:
Soaking in a hot tub, festering microbes and parasites leeching off my skin,
the little fuckers sucking it clean, merging as one with my human organism,
a mutated modification, an anomaly to pass on to other walking, talking, shrieking
barnacles, bloodsuckers of original sin.
My captivating is your scandalous:
Using the most exorbitantly-priced, extravagant work paper to roll a custom joint and then burn that bureaucratic bull into my lungs.
My captivating is your creepy:
Peeking into people’s windows at night – penetrating their solitude, infiltrating their secrecy, looking through the cracks in the blinds, when you see some light filtering through.
My captivating is your captivating:
Just fucking admit it. You are as fascinated by all of these gross, nasty, outrageous stories as I am…
I know you are. Just admit it.
(Imagine I told you everything? I’m still holding back a little!
Do you think I’m telling the truth or am I trying to trip you up?
You’ll never know!)