Everything will be alright in the end.

There is life after death. All your friends’re there. You love everybody. No one gets old, sick, murdered, or raped. There’s no war, hunger, or famine. Ain’t none a that shit. Just warm golden comfort with a capital D.

I’m butterscotch piped right into your donut. I’m a vanilla pod crushed in milk. I’m honey sweet to taste. Mmm. I’m stuck on your face. Can’t breathe like wax hardening. Lips shut. Say nothing. Inhale nothing. Only thoughts fuelling you now.

Welcome to your very own Imagination Machine. I’ll give you exactly what you want. It’s me at your door. Ring-ding motherfucker. Player 2’s entered with samurai swords. Shwing. Kshh. We go over the falls. The breakfast table. Cocopops spray up the wall. Our shadows dance and flip up the ceiling.

You’ve never felt so good. No drug like this. Better than sex, God, and your mom’s belly.

This is the Real World knocking dents in your skull. Open up. Rifle your files. Lick the inside of your face tryna decipher your pheromone trail. Nostrils drink your stench, quivering, real wide.

I fit you in me ten thousand times, a trillion more. We swim like fish around each other. We’re yin-yangin now, friend, hand in hand, arm in arm, brain to brain.