Quentin Peters :: d7 :

never took your side
never cursed your name
i keep my lips shut tight
until you go

I'm an alligator, I'm a mama-papa coming for you. Oh yeah, stick em up boys and girls, because I'm the space invader, rock n' rollin' bitch for you. Don't double cross me because I've got a nose like a bloodhound and I bite like one too. Boom boom, shoot around the room like a bouncy ball that someone has curve-balled at a corner, rebounding and coming for you kiddo. Passion and desire, sins they say, but the only sin I see is this city, and it's a cancerous cell burning a sick green, fading green, to grey, to ash. That is sin.

And toxic, I am. Like a sour sweet that makes your mouth water as you press it to your lips. A big fat red button that you want to slam your palm down and watch the fireworks. Keep your mouth shut, you're squawking like a pink monkey bird, you fat shit. Calm it, turn it down. Like a red hot stove glowing, turn me down to black, fade me away, like a dying star. That's all I am. Supernova, supernova, gone. Centuries in the blink of an eye, gone by in a whisper, so careless and insignificant. Aren't we all? So tiny in this big black nothing that we call the universe. They say that it's constantly expanding and growing and changing, but when I look around me, everything's the same.

I'm busting up my brains for the words. Knuckle hits cheekbone and down I go. Not a stereotypical stereotype, not even slightly. I burn for this. I flicker and fade, so small and dwindling, but full of fight. Blood in my mouth, tastes so good, and takes me back to when I was younger. Little girl with more talk than sense. Mother died when I was ten, so I ran away. "Stay here Pete, the Doctors are doing all they can." Not enough. Pete, short for Petal, the name I was born with. Dad was always macho macho, the ultimate warrior, savage and stubble faced, didn't like the idea of having a girl. My mother was the one who named me: Petal Quinn. Dainty name, didn't suit my old man too much, so he'd call me Pete. Fucked up in the head he was, an atomic fuckwit. I ran so far, so fast. Escaped from Petal Quinn, rewrote it, again and again, scribbled down in the dirt. Quinn. Quinn. Quentin. Quentin Peters. How's that, old man? Macho macho enough for ya'?

Keep your electric eye on me babe, put your ray gun to my head. Space age freak that I am, head full of ideas. Fried pigs blood, black pudding aftertaste, spending those mornings with my friends. Just an hour more. Nature freak, yesterday man, jumped up little shit, and the girl in the Games. Four + me is the furious five, breakfast under the stars. Comrades until the end. Patchwork friendships forged out of poverty and a general lack of belonging. We longed to be accepted, but with that we found each other, and now we're a band of thieves. Press your space face close to mine, love, oh wonderful frienemy of mine. Freak out in a moonage daydream. The closest thing to love I'll ever feel is hate. Right down to my core, it's the same feeling of absolute dread.

And sickening as it is, I feel the world's turn - Gravity's harsh pull, dragging me down and down and gripping me tight. It's a becoming conflate of belonging, like the earth does not want to let you go, but it is a dalliance of course, because it does let us go, and watches our spirits drift off into cold space. I fight that, because I am a fighter by nature. Spunky with zest. Like an acid lemon. In a word, I am efflorescence, bubbling from radiant emotion to the next. Queue them up, because my mood swings are a guillotine. I am a lot to handle, most become inure when they are first acquainted with my pastiche personality. But that's what this all is, my cult of personality.

So I'll keep fighting, scrapping because my mouth gets me into places that I can only bust my way out of. Nothing is left but galaxies of bruises, peaching purple on my soft skin. Always expanding, they say.

i'm in misery where you can seem
as old as your omens
and the mother we share will never keep
your proud head from falling

word count: --, graphics: rook
theme: the mother we share by chvrches