We are both travelers in this hungry and wet corner
Both slowly shedding our infant skin
Steam rises in our noses as we think of the
Decapitated motorbike rider who tarnished our trip
Blood from bone from skin from face
We are both leeches wanting more from his death
I close my eyes and imagine the blood bubbling in his cheeks
Jaw stretched downwards as though lowered by a lever
Eyes two bulbous masses of jelly
As he becomes part of the blood himself
Part of the tar on the road that sizzles and cracks and burns

We are both witnesses who lose each other in the
Cacophonous highway of markets
And meet again in the comfort of N2O funky balls
So hungry, we stay in the club for hours, our restful ecstasy
Our escape from daytime nightmare as we
Dream of the decapitated rider
We are both soulless, floating in an intangible bliss
I close my eyes and I see the flesh, turned to garage,
The unwanted scraps of his discarded body left to rot,
Left to putrefy as our bus drives on
He taps my shoulder and I smile
For a moment, there is peace

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