This is the song that never ends

The woman behind the glass commented on your MySpace twice today. She walks across the river to your house in her mind, and thinks of your face. Calls it a crush then continues to speak to you through telepathic thoughts.

“I only wish one day your mind will fall into my hands upon floating fluids. Wash away all that I own in a second. For your mind is toxic waste in the sewage system of hate. You dance the dance of the twisted penetrated, and it stings. I sing for the prostitutes, I sing for the lame. You bring me ounces of unbelievable pain. There is no repeating what I haven’t done, and I only praise the day your man fuel makes its way.”

You haven’t seen her yet this morning. The stalking of the child behind you asking for a dollar doesn’t warn you. Signs in her mind bring you great relief, when you find out that all she wants…is one small piece.

Yes, you should be scared, she doesn’t like your mother. Nor your father, and your family makes her sick. Cover now, hide, and you wont go too far down. The darkness can enrapture you. Love is too strong. You will soon know.

See her in the window? She’s dancing for you.

See her in the window? She’s looking out for you.

See her in the window? She’s watching you.

This is Big Brother’s sister. If you know what I mean.

This woman, sitting in the window sill begins to rant. Her words draining out the white noise.

“Dear lord, I swear the walls are shrinking.”

She looks around her room in utter fear, thinks of you, then smiles.

“I know he wants me, I know he needs me. He just doesn’t know it yet. I’ll show him… if it’s the last think I do.”

You better watch out, my dear, dear boy. Do you like the taste of your own creation? Because she loves it. She holds your dreary future on the head of a pin. Drop and you fail. Life is a pleasurable thing you must experience while you have the time young one.

She’s in it to win it, as some say…Look merely to the south, you’ll see her walking toward your locker. Sniff your air, steal your papers. She’s a kleptomaniac, and she’s after your mind. The girl behind the glass cage just wants a chance with you. Let her out, hun, let her become one with you.

I know you’re scared, you should be. I know you’re bitter, concerned about the fragrance of your cologne, wondering which skirt would be easiest to get into, thinking about the day when your years reach 18. You’re friends promised a strip club visit, didn’t they?

The woman has a little something to say about that, as she showers, thinking of you.

“There are no others like you, baby. I don’t know what you like, but I know where you live. Why would you watch them? Dancing like crack whores, at your back door. You should be watching me! Damn it! I know I talk to myself. But I can see you. Sometimes I even touch myself when thinking of you…don’t get me wrong, I’m not crazy, I just like the way you smell.”

She continued to shower. You crossed her mind. The whole time.

You have yet to find her dialing the number of the beast. For six is not a pretty number. She finds your mind is merely a condom covering natural instinct. The instinct that says a floorgasm isn’t possible. The instinct that forces and drives you to apart.

When we all know, you’re meant to be.

You’re struggling, child. Don’t fight it. The chains of her glory are nothing but a figment of your pumped imagination. Those pills in your hand. They’re not worth it. She only wants to watch you slip under. So let her. Look out your confused dripping eyes and look upon the fresh grass. She spins for you.

The woman dances in the moonlight. Spinning and spinning. Her brain cramped with gravity. She speaks the words again.

“I feel the utter silence in my head. Its crushing you dearest. Yes, yes, you want me to speak to you. And I will. For I wish I was a concentrated orange, so I could roll away from you, yet squeeze my inner juice on humanity. The crow cries with the sorrow of fallen ice-cream. Even the darkest cannot tell. You’re meant for me.”

She falls to the ground, fascinated by the luminescence of your headlights.

See her through the windshield? She’s watching you.

See her through the windshield? She only wants you.

See her through the windshield? She’s crawling towards you.

Back out now, reverse, reverse! Nothing can stop her. Parenthesis? Conform at your own risqué thinking. You’re friends are laughing. Pointing. Staring. They do nothing to stop, you’re man fuel extravaganza.

Dripped in rags, and whipped to the bone, she crawls up to your bumper, and screams.

“From the view of the wilted, your manly men are rotting! I’ve fasted for you. Food is evil, food is evil. Don’t you know? I’ve lost everything for you. My family lays in a ditch, I only want you.”

Her hand creeps to your face.

You’re powerless to stop it.

Her words are a carousel of broken records, ringing in your ears. Aren’t they?

I wont let you go.

“MySpace led me to you. It lets me see you everyday. You can’t block me, I’ll always find a way. Little men surround me just like Willy Wonka would have wanted it to be. And now you’re a part of my man fuel extravaganza.”

Continue on with your day, turn the headlights off, and merely hope she goes away. Switch your locker, buy a new car…god forbid, delete your account.

She’s walking away now. See how she skips? “tra-la-la-ing” to herself in the midst of a rainy night. Don’t you find her dedication amusing, dear child? She wants you, and only you. Are you ready to give it away?

Look as she chases that squirrel. Wow, look at her go! Brown furry things attract her…you know what that means.

Up ahead, she turns and whispers

“Go back home, dearest. I’ll be waiting for you. In the shallowest corners of the earth, to the deepest halls of insanity, there I’ll be. Watching you. Dancing for you. I am your creation, and I love the taste. When you finally discover what love means, I’ll be there. When the world itself dies, and we are the only ones left, you will come running. I know your name, your face, and your sins. You’re house is the yellow one at the end of the street, right?”

She continues to mumble to herself and walks backwards, seemingly spotless, down to her house.

I told you child, this will never end. Life is merely her song, and you’ve officially lost.