I Force myself into her, do my damage, plant my seed and leave. Sit around feeling guilty for the next few years with a growing liver and a glowing blood lust, trying to contemplate the end of the mystical rainbow, to Salvation’s next exit. Yet, I know it’s not in my wallet. I can see beyond the myopic walls you put up and it isn’t pretty, this paralysis of egocentric, regional thought. A minefield of glittering glee, smashed bottle glass and the consequential infected toe in fetus. Christ is on the wall above the fireplace, with a needle nose, desperately shaking his needle dick. Another life caught in the asphyxiation of gin and tonics and cheap politics. It’s time to cross over to the other side