[DARK POP] Florence + Machine- What Kind Of Man? (MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW)
Tryna cross a canyon with a broken limb
You were on the other side
Like always, wondering what to do with life
I’d already had a sip
So I’d reasoned I was drunk enough to deal with it
we met for the second time, across the bar. at that tragic fucking gay hipster indie night in Seattle, where you could drink yourself into oblivion, to music that didn’t make your body want to fade into it also. i was mainlining adios motherfuckers. i was making a disaster (within, of) myself. and i see you there smiling. fuck. i knew she sent you. because she loved me. because she knew i was hiding out here, afraid of my own diseases. the kind of disease that’d had a friend she and i knew run screaming out our apartment cos my nose bled. it bled your death. only if i was bleeding my pain inside of you. she sent you cos your boyfriend had been through it all. she sent you because she knew you’re the only man I’d wielded my power to in years. until you left me, weeks before it happened.
and across that bar you kissed me. fuck. you inspired a fire of devotion. the kind that could last twenty years.
chaos cut me to pieces since we last kissed. rainstorms. mudslides. hurricanes. every.fucking.day. i told you why. not even she knew why. not anyone knew. i’d let other men touch me since then. i suffocated every time. you breathed new life into my chaos. you felt racked with guilt. if you hadn’t left me, it wouldn’t have happened. if we suffered together, oh the fucking romance. you told me that every night. as you watched thunder and lightning dance across my eyes.
i was this tornado that loves you, i couldn’t control it. that F5 was ripping through my heart. and you hoped, you practically pleaded every time we fucked for it to tear me to shreds in front of you. for me to lose myself when i entered you. you’d taunt fuck him. fuck him. fuck it out of you. if only I was there to stop it. And you’d beat your fists into my chest. tiny little fucking fists pretending they’re some kind of rain stick. and you’d shake them in front of my sternum, stirring up storms you never have a hope of understanding. you never cared what typhoon you’d just tangled in. you just remember’d he beat me over the head, 30 lashes to the heart with closed soul, closed hand fisticuffs. he left me for dead, naked. for the paramedics to find me six hours later. he gave me two diseases that night. one treatable. another incurable, of the soul.
i was your little tornado lover. i was going to give you my sadness disease if you pushed hard enough. chaos travels. chaos beckons. chaos doesn’t give a shit what it runs into. it pins down love, looks at it in its terrified eyes and victimizes the fuck out of it. suffer together. rape victim becomes the rapist. did you think it would heal me? or did you see my dick as your personal vehicle for suicide? and when my body flew to bits, when all the control was lost, so lost. suddenly, i knew the nature of your love. i pushed my lips up off a kiss, i rocketed my body off your nipples and i punched.you.in.the.nose so fucking hard. you bled. i picked up the whiskey bottle and hit it over your head. and i yelled
WHAT KIND OF MAN LOVES LIKE THIS?