silver waves pull dolphins
down to the earth’s core
to burn in beautiful patterns
of glittering sacrifice
until the world is warmed
with their magical screams.
the children morn their passing
while slowly suffocating
in the goldwrap of their lives.


Dead Skin Cells

a skeletal disaster, you are rotten to the bone
gravity holds you up like a magnet, pulling
ligaments through skin. madness sprouts
from your skull, drenching me to the bone.

a beautiful zombie without a name, you drift
between reality and sunbeams lapping the
silhouettes from the pavement. your skin floats,
embedding into the cotton of the clouds, to croak.

your children shred themselves into strips
of mathematics, multiplying into the jagged wind
the wolves pull on their denim. this is relative,
your concern. lightning couldn’t splinter your bones.

eyes that could only see translucent bacteria cells
were only good for staring through walls. eventually
the salt water will be enough. love me darling, love me,
with your flakes of dead skin cells, until I’m satisfied.


Mk Ultra

blast me to the moon to wallpaper it shell
with hieroglyphs and fear, for half an eternity.
I’ll live with the alien galaxies and remain
suspended in its bloated atmosphere.

satellites plaster lasers onto my skin, searing
disaster onto my ideals, fucking me over till
I bleed. syllables gradually sound, faulting,
brain-washing acid into skulls, glitching.

this ignorance couldn’t be infinite, but it was
and it will stay hooked into the shrivelling
bacteria of your contamination. the colours melt
around this existence. melt for another war.

there will be no peace, there will be no nothing.


Black Mass (Interlude)

it happened with a charge; a volt.
the siren song called us into its womb
to intertwine with its chords.
we gave our souls away for a hit
of harrowed sunlight and black
masses of despair. to hold us under.

White Mass (Prologue)

I’ve always loved your deceptions,
and your miserable voice. white masses
of time hold our forms together, burning
skin into the walls of our honeymoon.
violet blood sprouts from your head,
scarring me with sharpened vessels.


Origami Fingers

she could fold herself into a wine glass, my sister and
drown quite peacefully in its septic water, but its blue liquid
turned and clawed out her eyes like a plague of locust; their wings
settle around her eyelashes, shielding the sky from her.

she never heard when i called her name, or asked
her to smile. inside, her identity thawed and dissolved; ice
ran down her paper legs and puddled onto the checkered
floor of her prison, softening the shackles on her ankles.

her slumbers were eternal, and her days lethargic and gin soaked.
white sunlight shone from the gaps of her bedframe, shredding her bones.
the demons inside her skull tried to piece her back together
but instead they camouflaged her dreams out of existence.

my sister gave herself to me, as a gift. she sits there on my
bookshelf next to my hardbacks and my self-loathing. yesterday
I saw her intricate folds seep into my walls like a possession
that turned her origami fingers into ghosts, delicate and half dead.


Fractions and Vodka

lightbulbs disorientate
streams of shadows,
slashing drunken silhouettes
into halves;
and sandpapering
edges of time
into dehydration,
clinking and shaking –
the sky expands,
around florescent addiction
until mouths
froth crimson
until fiery liquids
drown them.



do you remember
how the water spun
and melted
into the pebbles
of the sunlight?

and do you remember
how the light
off the opening
of the whirlpool's mouth?

decades of waste
and pearly bone
got sucked in
and digested at the base
of the riverbed.

and the wind sings softly
from the skies
plucking its notes
from concoctions of saliva
and rainwater.

above, the overpass
is filled with faces
all blinking
down into the cracks
of liquid.

do you remember
that morning
when the Maelstrom
swallowed you whole
and ate you up?

and do you remember
how I cried
because I couldn't follow
the bloody current?
So my teardrops did.


Firework Face

rebellion drowns the moon under
layers of rain soaked concrete,
wishless stars rupture and burn
ulcers into leaf; my firework face
slits open golden foxes and mutters
things he cannot remember:

“grass stained leather...
priests on speed dial.”

hands steady, lighting the ends
of cheap explosives, until the beams
are blinded and neglect seeps into
the nightime and nothing but barcodes
and tattered wrappers become visible.
His face has never been the same.


Carousel Exorcisms

horses dislocate their jaws
and froth at the mouth,
as the demons absorb themselves
into their shining ceramic skin

the children sing and clap,
as the demons posses their bodies
embedding themselves into their skeletons
for the transitions into older eyes

and that was how it started,
with a promise,
of satanic oblivion and burnt surahs
until nothing but insanity and lust remained
until they starved to death.


Permanent Daylight

his cigarettes taste like death
sweetening the burning sunlight
his lips purse, and expel,
swirling smoke skywards
and searing through my skin.

I didn't ask for a distraction.

A Paradigm Suicide

twisting and hurling distortion
into honeysuckled iris'

mocking, masquerading,

reflections back into the basin
of cunt-faced agoraphobia

sweating, sawing,

heads off demons and
plugging spines into victims

breaking, burning,

elements off periodic tables;
binding carbon dioxide to trees

decreasing, destroying,

veins and preoccupations
across lines of powder

sniffing, snorting,

suicide into nostrils
and choking back vomit

lunging, lisping,

around circular patterns;
slashing squares into triangles

ending, eclipsing.



Is that red lipstick you’re wearing? And are those roses
on your dress? Vinny, do you have flowers in your hair?

You smell sweeter that I remember; and your hair is longer
than I recall. Why is there eyeliner running down your cheeks?

Is that a gun you grasp in your hand? And why
are you barefoot? Dearest, why are you screaming?

Have you lost your handbag? And why are your stockings torn?
Sweetheart, please take that gun out of your mouth.

You’ve been gone for days. We looked for you; we searched,
Vincent, why is there blood running down your legs?



I lit fires, and scorch dinner plates
with acid; because I couldn't afford anger
or pay for my despair. I smash plates
against photographic walls and
wedge shards of porcelain angst
into my medicated intervals, bleeding
it open for the monsters. The air glitches

and pulses, through my nostrils and up
through the hole in my head. The hole
that wasn't there yesterday. I couldn't
eat, only inject vanilla into my bloodstream
and drown in screaming machinery. Last week
I skinned myself alive - that was before, exhaustion

burrowed into my heart, spreading to my fingertips,
It became malignant, and masturbated
itself to death. Hit me, with everything you've
got, burn me to the ground and eclipse my
sanity into itself. And there's that smell again,
the smell of vanilla and rust, that wouldn't go away.



They were unspoiled, the children who obeyed
from the waist up they glow a magnetic silver
but their insides slowly thaw, splintering,
muscles and veins turn to bark
and their silhouettes stiffen with lust

Deafening sirens call from within isolation
engraving surrender into the children’s tongues
and melting their small bones. To drown their senses
down the darkened alley of sickness
and into the arms of the Devil that needed pleasing

Girls made of newspaper become seeded
by the marbled men they had rented
and loved wholly for a blameless night
but their lovers bruised, scarring their hearts,
and breaking them into pieces they would never find

For the first glance of hardened organs
foetuses would drag their half formed bodies
out of their mothers puss stained wombs
and they would hunt for humans they could tear apart
and fill with awful sunflower seeds.


Body Bag

I decay
into pockets of polyester
clawing melancholy
into the condensed air
of my suffocation

I decay
into fibers and stitches
breeding with viruses
that hatch from my mouth
multiplying indifference

I decay
into chains of black holes
until I am flung
by the edges of my body bag
into the furnace.



the days merge together in an eclipse of incoherency
extending and twisting around morbid afterthoughts
to haul the sprits from their guilt stained sanctuaries

magnets pull, and spin in rapid grey blurs of addiction
severing through loyalties and broken senses of entitlement
needles shine, refusing to inject reflections into dead skin

rows of machines speak in deafening syllables of three
poisoning recovery with scarlet intoxicants of torment
fragile layers of skin jolt, and expire into the overcast sky.



narcoleptics wander around vacant shopping centres
dispositions eating holes into their tablets of melatonin,
escalators mince their tired bones
into tessellations of lethargic veils

faceless executioners line the shadowed pavements
their gaping mouths inhale toxic fumes of the sleeping,
possession stitches their eyelids
into the insides of soft pillows

the blue moon tenderly smothers ill-fated sleepwalkers
into the creases of their perfume stained mattresses,
dawn severs their limbs
with burning shards of sunlight

the television flashes dull light across the grit of my walls
piercing through the liquid strings of my dejected thoughts,
until my nightmares drain the world
of all its splintered happiness.



you had a gun for everyday of the week
and a new heart to riddle with affection
shaking steel plated fire out onto your palms
you aim, steady as a rock, at her heart,
tearing your love out through her ribcage

the underdog's number was on speed dial,
he always answered with a whistling cough
he would ask of how far this one flew
and you would assure him of her divinity
his organs emptied out into the dial tone

he would arrive soon after, limping to your front door
smelling of tobacco and murderous intentions
with a kiss on her forehead, he packed her up
into neat rosy lines of square dignity
and he would leave with a tilt of his hat

the burning sun set to the sound of your thoughts
and another feathery girl would be waiting inside
her legs folded beneath her, a smile plastered onto her face
and you would tell her of all the hearts you had punctured
until her bulletproof walls had vanished into the carpet.


Circuit Boards and Menthol

microchip my brain
with electric tranquillers
and funnel my sorrows
into the insides of ticking circuit boards

until my soul is fastened
to the serial codes of metallic bullets
and my sickness is smoke-screened
into lightening struck puddles

smear my stone heart
with watery menthol
and leave me out in the cold
for the rats to eat me alive

switch off my fears
with your inked fingertips
until all I can feel is the dust
settling around the gaps of my molars.


Edges of the Earth

shoulder to shoulder trees line the pearly seas
shielding threads of waves from bearded explorers
who paddle in boats carved from philosophy
cutting through veined shields and mirrored streams
they tear their bodies in half and feast on their flesh
soaked in blood the explorers drown in waterfalls
their souls mist into the holes at the bottom of the sea

valleys foam white gold over drained trenches
they stand high, waiting for horns to signal the end of the world
their stone hearts are used as coffins to bury the dead
the ground becomes clogged to its roots with fiery bodies
the dead tear their lungs out of their chests and hold it up to the skies
wanting the kaleidoscopic clouds to inflate their empty skin
but Gods steal their life and watch as they wither and die

the elephants watch on vacantly, towing children behind them
weeping and shaking the children claw at the sandy dirt
screaming for their mothers they break free and melt into the ground
disintegrating into the jagged wind the elephants dissolve after them
inside a hologram at the end of time, I watch the world
tear itself into irregular pieces and hook itself up to a drip,
as it dies, the ghosts of its mistakes absorb me into its liquid.



around abandonment
frozen dials
to a halt

and Polaroid’s
with memories
are dumped
lucid letterboxes


and gnaw
through moulds
of clear bone

thawing misery
leaking infatuation
down the hallows
of my translucent


From the Kissed

existing within the nerves of his barbed mouth
time surrendered to his hallucinogenic ideals
and his drenched aphrodisiacs wove secrets
into silvery flicks of light hearted judgement
pushing the slivers of my remaining soul into a slit
of hoarse vapour, that knew nothing of preservation
counting the strings of glassed revelations that emerged
from his chest, his tongue spoke to the walls of lucidity
and I, brushed against the bones of his wistful longing
lingering inside the constancy of his crimson stained lips.



masks are inked and seared
with cold blooded disguise
and packed tightly into boxes
linear with neglect

decorative glitter weaves value
into expressive cryptic swirls
of questions jaded indigo
with angst and misery and fear

juvenile patience flattens
its elegant stitching
and wears down its rouses
with coppered rust

lightening shaped cracks,
beeped and glitched,
craving negligent shaped patches
to heal their exposure

masquerading outlines of disorder
with creased smoke
to fleck misery and drain scars
into tailored a serenade

intoxicating concealment
and leaking emerald shine
so the wearer could never leave
a honeycombed trace

but the correlations of the world
amplified face shaped splendour
into moulds of ordinary skin,
that knotted synthetic faces into frowns.


Rainbow Ejections

rusty amber springs emerge disguised
through layers of feathery seating
coiling energy into spirals of static
they pull greedily on beating veins,
needing and wanting;
instead, they weave
chaotically through gravity
jumping through tightened stitches,
brushing against immortality
and against needles of metallic adrenaline;
to vibrantly eject souls
into the disintegrating


Newspaper Abortions

the chandelier was carved from the bones
of insane poets and stained with their inked
preoccupations, and the lightbulbs were black

and the music was in italics, it could breathe
black-orbed squints from within its notes,
and the vibrations washed away, with the gravity

of checkered narcotics and disciplined razors
cutting through addiction, cutting through pain,
and through the thick skin of selfish interference

to gut, laced value from its beating abdomen
and eat its disaster; to devour all its purpose
and set it alight for the newsstands, to tell

and enlighten the earless world with the power
and glory of victory and triumph! but the world
sulks, into their cappuccinos wishing for lighter nights

and darker days to aid their spirals of manias
headfirst, straight through ivory trapdoors, to hide
from the world that pushed, because wanting

to kill with metal coat hangers was immoral
but they dug and pulled and twitched and
screamed, bathing in sinless blood; it rained

emerald ribbons, and the birds dived and spun
synchronising the beautiful pain of the world
into the bows that held all our strobed static in place.


Halfway Dead

skeletal drumsticks beat layers of silver voltage
onto silent stretches of elastic skin; once, twice,
calling to the golden swans to take their victims
to be burned under a flaming expanse of ice water
where they would ignite into contradictory tempos
and epileptic rhythms, upward, in ripples of bubbles,
and at the bottom of the sea, their souls would live
sheltered lives of indigo, and they would have children
that had gills and an invisible beam to mark the world
with the cryptic symbols of their minds, but for now
they would remain hooked dryly to the sanded motors
of the luminous sea, almost alive but halfway dead.


The Magician

machines tube lines of fractured glass through the bones of a magician
satiety inflates his displaced conscious into the jaws of a psychic void,
which destroys; he breathes soul shaped enigmas out through his eyes

humming molten metallic regret, the machines cage their fearful limbs
they watch passively as their creators combust into shards of insanity
flashing strings of scarlet guilt, they bubble and dissolve, unmaintained

standing, the magician crawls through liquid concrete, hunting for gold
he ignores the vertical huffs of smoke trickling out from his machines
instead he sieves through rock; but he falls, into an abyss, to emerge sinless

the magician watches the overcast sky birth blind Ravens onto tilted treetops
they fall to the earth and peck at the flesh of molested women; sipping blood
they eat their glassy eyeballs, instead choking on wands of indiscrete magicians

the magician sits inside a square balloon and reels films of the future
watching around cigarette burns, he vacantly folds his form into a reel
the film plays its secrets to the vacant walls; reality flickers, and burns.



children sit on floating benches, smoking pulsing electricity
through beams of neglect; spinning webs of burnt autonomy,
they deal cards of fortune, raising stakes, to fold – to execute
cheating through smouldering sunrays they remembered it all

they remember growing beards, rising within freedom
and through broken promises of eternal love, to drown
in intoxicants, wishing to remain broken and greying
so they were able to return, unfinished and scripted

blank pages of knowing filled their brains to the brim,
swirling data through the eyes that examined the ticking world
of soft bedding and cold coffins, buttons had been placed
inside their wardrobes for the mental breakdowns of the night

small palms grew into worn bark, sprouting amber leaves
and unfolding into a photo album, you remember swinging
with that red cardigan, you remember the flightless bird
who died and couldn’t remember how to return home

the children ate, and talked, lifting the burden of their smiles
bruising their bruises with the lust of escape, they decided,
tying knots with expertise they assisted eachothers suicides
hanging serenely from the decaying trees, they sang to death

wiser and slower, they emerged, translucent; limping forwards
studying their younger bodies, they laughed and laughed and laughed
they helped the last child expire and heard the click of her neck give,
carrying their baggage to the floating table, they resumed playing.


Two Capsules of Deception

my exterior resembled yours, a stony skeleton framed,
with eyes, lips and skin; drifting lazily against expectation
my form gradually pixelated into the razored atmosphere
sewing my veins back through my creativity and out again

my fear smiled, becoming lost in a temporary condition
my normality escaped from my lips in graceless bursts
ribboning the searing needles that skewered my brain
static indulged electricity, stretching out my skull

my tongue could only drone murder, every passing thought
was invaded with scarred children becoming exorcised
my disposition fluctuated between taxes and sin
unable to breathe, I dislodged my dusty trachea

my week old form was slumped over pieces of poetry
emotion had drained me; synonyms became sadistic
foreign words violated mine, holding a gun to its head
reaching for my pills I kissed the disappearing trigger.


the birdless sky had exchanged places with the littered earth,
children slept on the clouds and the moon lit up the ground
blue and green sunspots evaporated into empty cigarette packs
silver haired creatures grew from the shining waste, spitting
their victims came numbered for their revival into purity
blackened hands held their necks under the glimmering water
useless and pale, they drowned in flashing kaleidoscopic rivers
bodies emptied of grudges as their scaled foreheads imploded

fishermen looked on. their clarity had tried to hook the dead back to life
all they caught were frozen limbs, their tears could not warm them
dying of sympathy, they flipped coins into the river, wishing for solace
but their golden coins floated, worthless, back to the surface.


House of Bone

I was dying; blissfully, painfully
lying beside a Man who I couldn’t remember
my forgetting had torn him apart with its teeth
and shifted through his glistening organs
finding his heart it drank without remorse,
gulping down his disease, it flourished;
sprouting black Lilies from its forehead

I told him I was sorry
I told him I was dying
but he just stared; introverted and silent
at the person I no longer was
emitting carbon monoxide regret
towards my bloodstained form
I choked on my lethargic betrayal

I asked him if I could have his ribs,
he didn’t reply
so I stole them and built a magical house
I wallpapered the walls with his skin
and painted the doors with his blood
I used his intestines to build a Hammock
I could never swing past the heavens

The house had told me that it was my Father
and that I should do what was right;
do what people with hearts did
I packed my house into a coffin
and asked the world to build a tunnel,
to the centre of the earth where he would live
and then, I buried him out into the bubbling sea.


Phases of the Insane

these amber mornings were made of discoloured highs,
buried neatly under the mapped watermark of purpose

unable to function in present tense or think in adjectives
I drowned where I slumped, under lethargic layers of white

my glassed lenses arrived wrapped in crinkled gold paper
now – I could only see in negatives and hasty shadings

oh wasted sepia mornings! veiled behind patterned blinds;
drinking zamzam water from the cupped hands of the dead

climbing the wallpaper walls, I squatted on the ceiling
watching intently as the children ate their own flesh.


of Death, Dreams and Hell

all I’ve ever wanted was to fall through my bed and straight into hell.

the clouds screamed manic frustration downwards, through my skull
I waited, all packed and dressed, for death to absorb my pain
I dreamt poisonous wild flowers were eating through my skin
perfectly decorating the intentions that had torn a hole in my side;
perfuming me with lust filled suicides and stormy horizons.

damaged voices split my thin lipstick smudged figure in half
I collapsed on my splintered spine, falling on little plastic stars
starved of empathy, I took shots of gold and inhaled doses of dreams
spluttering my fantasies back into the air, I was unable to make it stick;
my lungs, burnt with the morbid intoxication of glittering sickness.

but I couldn’t fall; so I had decided I would float to the flames instead.



I could only burn. Igniting myself from the inside –
swallowing celestial bursts of fire; I bled amber flames,
smoke seeped from my pores as flames lubricated my soul,
choking on silent fumes I was gradually turning to ash,
and when the time came I would fracture, and blacken;
fading into the wind, to drift straight into his eyes,
blinding him with the destruction I could no longer conceal.


Glassy Detachment

Today the window was circular. Circular and eternal.
Outside, strangers shuffled their preoccupations,
from one hand into the other, exchanging keys, for a handle,
then to turn on a radio, loosening the sounds in their skulls.

Knees pressed against a window ledge, I stared.
Hoping for a connection, a small spark of similarity -
but their masks, deprived of oxygen, cared nothing for my pain
and their breaks, kneeled, scattered among apple cores, distant.

It was cold. The window fogged with my breath, then cleared.
dead air settled into my brain like syringes injecting cogealed liquid.
my paperweight head sunk into an iced windowpane, braced against coldness
leisurely dying with the thoughts returning from sanity, ablaze.

Shaking in its splintered casing, the window bargained with the outside
panes of glass spat stories of my dreams sinning with Reaper
As I, barricaded inside my mirrored skull, watched passively
as he, threaded in glittering blackness, attempted to devour my silicone skin.


Hands, my hands were crawling with ants
they followed the causeways of my veins
I could feel my blood burning as the burrowed;
up my arms to settle in the hallows of my elbows,
like the way a lovers lips would feel after a confession.

The skin of my forehead was heaving with spiders
they ate through my hardened skull and dumped eggs
foreign scuttling stirred my thoughts from its silence
I tried to shake the spiders out through my ears,
but they burst through my eyes, blinding me.

The abdomens of mothers was pregnant with wasps
concentrated buzzing wrapped around tiny limbs
skin rippled as wings brushed against pulsating nerves
the wasps stung along segmented breaks of umbilical cord
depositing iron spikes into the cheeks of a bleeding foetus.

Termites danced along flakes of rain soaked bark
crawling horizontally across lengths of dead limbs
swarms of blackness moved in and around shredded leaves
eating their way through foundations of roots,
they tunnelled; towards the navy stained sky.



Mahogany torsos were stacked
against fractured walls
arms chaotically strewn
over grainy floorboards
hallow heads, sat gathering dust
on illiterate shelves
pages of discoloured newspaper
were used
to protect artificial limbs
against inept handling.

Innovation had erased recollections
of glimmering shop lights
and memories of wide eyed passersby
who gazed at satin costumes
circling their brief addiction
shoes squeaked on polished marble
customers stroked desire
against artistic seams
occasionally, fingernails would graze
over synthetic thighs.

Darkened eye sockets
persecuted stray birds
who flew in through barren windows
beaks pecked greedily
at hardened skin
discovering drained cores
they choked on pieces of plastic
spluttering musical apologies
they escaped
only to plunge skyward.


Lining the Sirens

Swinging from the multicoloured sky, hands greedily clasp single-colour arcs
palms char emerald and arms strain amber as feet search for stable ground to land on

Crawling on the ground, faces emerge from liquid concrete, spiting philosophy
insects contaminate current preoccupations as they seal nicks and knot scars

Drifting within the subconscious, foreign thoughts circle betrayal into themselves
combusting downward, gliding along abstract spines, only to diminish to the sound of sirens


Shifts in Clarity

A tree had rooted itself outside my window
Bracing the ground against its seasonal changes
Reminders of autumn lingered on leafless branches
A scarlet scarf remained suspend on a twig
Trying to tug itself free, trying to escape
To wrap reassurance around the collarbone of its owner
Memories clung by design to its reddened fibres.

Clouds folded precipitation into themselves
Hoping to give the world a few moments of happiness
Umbrellas would remain titled in hallways
And coat hangers pilled with outdoor clothing
Wooden hooks remaining dignified in sunlit conditions
Nudity came in the form of fresh raindrops
And icy swipes from the winds.

Watches were checked, checked once, then again
The clock whispered the arrival of 6:00pm
Reluctant in providing a time for motion.

Birds migrated neatly into surreal arrangements
Trusting eachothers decisions to plunge towards the earth
and glide past colossal concrete structures
The spectacle climaxed and
They disappeared into the distance
Where their homes awaited and belonging chimed welcomes.

The afternoon progressed calmly into the evening
And the evening would drift sleepily into the morning
The sun rose to the sound of reminiscent murmurs
Certainty slowly undoing the works of the seamstresses of fate.



he was broken
his organs shards
his skin punctured
she could tell by his hands
they were scarred and blackened
from trying too hard
from working the wheel,
the wrong way round
sweat and blood
bathing his soul shaped eyes

he needed a saviour
she was not it
she could not stay to hear his thoughts
to hold him up
to watch him undress

she had no wings
no velvet robes
no clear conscience

she could only provide an intoxication
a brief forgetting
a sin for the saint

one she could only give
at her weakness

how could she intend
to apologise
with a sorry
she had borrowed
for convenience?


Selfish Accumulations

she could tell you
how the moon wore the badge of loneliness
radiating silver haze
that drew away from its pull
occupying the atmosphere instead
a naked orb shining its solitude
on the world

faces bathed in delicate beams
entwining around their thoughts
purifying expectations
and dulling their self loathing

instead she would tell you
her words chipped imperfections out of her skin
she laid them out for the Ravens
her thoughts would never be real
they were the foil
around your pills
warning against overdoses
she had cut out the heart of her reality
and ate it

choking on the ink that defined her
she spat creation

the world just told her to get cleaned up


The Checkered Floor

shades of light and dark
unable to fold into eachother
segmented into blocks of misery
for every truth, for every thrust into reality
standing their ground
wedged between drunken rivals
and manic lovers

solitary abandon glazing over the gaps
with lustful murmurs
and silent breaths

footsteps close enough to the ground
to feel the warmth
hearing their impairments
brittle skulls were held open
waiting for the grasps of the living

bodies were strewn over the squares
unaware of their intrusion
they bled into the cracks
tremors of apology distancing their gazes

flashing syllables and ringing shapes
pierced the corners

tearing them apart
into simpler formations
which guaranteed happiness


the skin of a poet

they, hanging from the ceiling
dangling over her disregard
glowing blurred happiness
from interpreting her attention
whilst facing the sun
instead of gutting a rodent

she, engraving disease onto her skin
two syllables for everyday of her existence
her distortion was eternal
but the pain would last longer
than the humiliation

they, growing blistered and uncertain
at her self-inflicted incisions
asking questions on pain
and receiving burst of ignorance
and snorts of laughter
because she was mutilated
but she knew nothing
nothing at all


Indigo Intent

inside her head
spiders molested electricity
switching sockets
and bending aerials
into swans

the night breathed whispers
and grew veins
suffocating the on-looking moon
it bled pearly torture

the pavements
circular in apathy
were encrusted in diamonds
and still warmer than his skin

timepieces glared from reserved corners
punching mutilations
into her subconscious

taking two controlled steps backwards
she scratched consent
onto her lips

and waited for somebody who cared