Most do not deserve their beauty, as a bride she remembers little, it's a blank sadness married to the outer dark and melancholy wires in the rain, bloated books in pools of water, an abstract puddle on the bricks, a sky full of hemorrhaging clouds and their dead, perverted gods, the decapitated heads in a jungle river, the sweet smoke of a terrace volcano, men pee standing up, how awful, ghosts; people warm in love, cold lips, smiling eyes and the Maker's praise underneath all my skin, I want the entire world to explode, I want its very bones to be violent shrapnel from a ruptured grenade piercing the galaxies for aeons and aeons, forever and ever, all planets, none survive until God opens His eyes and it will be day.