Viktory Vox: Sickness in Love

Midnight Lies

As told to Viktor Quixote by Himself

       

                        

Tonight some future life dreads
Youth that lies sullen in your bed
No more can intellect deny
The preposterous truth of lovers' lies:
The contrived rage that makes you sin hotter
Makes you gag and stench for me
How bad can play-jealousy be?

You like it, you want me saying
"She has . . . more style than you. She thinks
of far wilder things and does them too.
Since anger fires her love, she must drink deadly passion
Begging men to overflow her mouth with humiliation."

If I want to feel your love ending.
I'll herd you in the mens room with a gang of friends
For cruelties that never mend..

 I'd rather be your toy man
And help you over this, so
Take my genitals firmly and slash them
watch them bleed til you feel compassion
Play doctor again; disinfect them with piss
You'll feel yourself healing once you've done this
We'll do as must be done finally to abate
Your atrocious habit of killing your mate.

If you'd prefer another woman, I can do that!

I don't think that your past lovers knew that you've got to feel anger to get off--'the madder the queen, the better the obscene'--and that some part of you has to believe that your best friends are stealing them just the minute they are out of your sight. That has caused problems between you and men--and female friends too--but something inside you makes up a reason--however unreasonable--to fuel the anger that gets you to come come come.

I'm thinking over the whole situation and asking rhetorically "Oh, what harm can it do? I'll make up some nonsense to tell her, so she'll get off." But it will also poison a love. In my midnight reverie, I consider that playing at anger and sex doesn't work long-term, and could kill our relationship: If our sex needs anger to work, then really hot lovemaking could get you so p.o.'d that you may murder someone: 'If love be anger then passion be deadly.'

I say 'Look at at all those other lovers who tried this ahead of me (before me). They're dead, butchered.'--carnage, or dead meat. You hate those guys now. So, since I don't want your love to die, maybe you should go ahead and have the conventional, gotta-be-mad-at-someone fuck with those guys. 

I'm so crazy in love that you won't even have room to think about the usual things--mad, mad, madder. What acts of love? Chew on my penis and spit the blood in my face. Get on all fours and piss on me. Crawl and roll me around the floor like a baby ('polymorphic perverse). These unconventional acts may make your mind forget about necessary jealousy. Perhaps if we try something else, you won't end up believing your own delusions of infidelity, you won't hate me and kill me, and we'll stay together