Dating Carbon

That scarlet letter A stands for Anal, so be kind, and then take your time before the push, lube or spit a must. We all wear some letters, college grads or not; R for the Riders, R for the Ridden, R for the forever Rejected; we do it to ourselves. How can you hate them, being so broken and all? I only hate the faux cool collected, everyone else seems to be in the centrifuge too, spinning. Separating into our base components, solid or see through, death becomes us. Primate fear, ha, as if they were your competition for inheritance, a heir pulling attraction; we are cousins like that, but not like that; haven't you ever seen a trees branchings? I don't flirt with anyone, save for Ladytron that time when I was drunk, but they just wanted my long delayed gratification, right in the face; some Bukowski bukkake thing. I love to dance it all out, sweating impurities in a not giving a beat trance shake, shaking the ghosts out one by one, and then I take a seat at the bar or booth to cool and watch all gliding by, eyes on fire, desperately seeking haunting; watch out for the dead glass ones, that don't quite connect to the wearers mouths, and be careful what you drink out there, in The World.