Called back from fourth row
with no time to discuss
Just death alert
A six year old hero pissing himself
and making low-fat promises
to overheated heart
Just love me, for gods’ sakes!
On your marks, on my knees
crawling up that pill
For things in need of iron
For house to claim my own
For strength to bear a tear
For courage to shut his voice
For how long?
by nokindofmagic, 28 September 2013
This song has been following me for years. There’s a rule my friends know too well and it goes: Magic listens to Tori, get a hanky, a glass of wine or pen and paper. Or all of them. Anyway, I feel the need to post it right now, even if it breaks my writing and publishing policy. This is sort of my goodbye to you, but just sort of. Please wish me a pleasant flight and if anyone wants a postcard, let me know. No, Belinda, you stay calm, you’ll get your own anyway :).
Mary McDee bit my ear again
and presented two tickets to Stockholm
Ironically Swedes are far from prude
so I expect madness therapy
purifying nudity and countable
birches on the way
I need to be the saint of Cosmopolis
A sneeze between a dumpling and vodka shot
by nokindofmagic. 30August 2013
Soon I will come back, but what for?
Originally posted on No kind of Magic:
Solitude was pretty much the same.
Tonight he’s a smoker
on the pneumonic windowsill
He still can’t decide
What that eastern racket
He’s not a drinker tonight
and the right words are slippery when dry
his oblong shape has
He can’t be a doctor all the time
Too many contradictory urges
for he’s an
overgrown breast cancer without a