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.