comply

so smooth
she spits fire
like
raindrops
into the eyes
of the audience
awaiting the end times
in a bath of their own
electric
warfare
without a care;
crushing those who would
try to
aspire,
to desire
the tender kisses of midnight
in a flight of fancy
as smoke trails
across the power lines,
she finds
a little something
she left behind
one day
not too long ago,
and she knows
it's just another daydream
in the stream
of a lingering scheme
designed to juristic
and restrict
the ample love
in the eyes that resign
to fire
and flame
in the name of shame
as it lingers upon lips
so divine
they shine with admiration
and violation
through the piss wet pulp
of electric warfare
so as to despair
the glare that
kissed it
upon the cheek
that reddens at the touch,
but not enough
to wipe away
the lingering memories
of the disease
that killed it
once upon at time
by the lips
that kiss
so divine
they had to build a shrine
to the goddess of
electric warfare
called
complacency.