original
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a brain that needs to be scrubbed clean. burdens- they stand, idly, on my shoulders. now we’re all waiting for relief. an ache, 3mm above my heart but nowhere close enough to even matter. something hangs on the tongue. the taste of rust spreads throughout and the air: it is heavy. silence raps my eardrums
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green is the colour I shall wear today. green is the guise I hide myself with. the sun rises and I stare into your irises. what are you thinking of today? when I think of you, I wonder if anyone still remembers me. once again, the morning intrudes past the boundary of the curtain. it
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at the burial of cliches the storm brewed in a teacup. stirring it you reached for sugar. dressed in black, we’d come early for the opera. sitting in potholes where her voice wouldn’t reach us, the flower on your breast is undressed with mud. a tragedy, a tragedy, O it’s one we could not avoid.
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pretending anger crouched in a corner and watched from shutter-blind teeth the unwilling spreading of a smile control. control sits in the rolling chair writing swear words in cursive. in the same room we both pretend to be uninterested and let the flames lick away at our fists.
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crystalline- which was our bond surely eternity must have been erased when we crossed the line in the wake of our collapse you forcefully shed my skin surprisingly it was all just as expected: my true nature – it remains too beautiful too beautiful for you to behold.
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IMPOTENT RAGE penetrates impregnable fortresses mind body soul a burning bonfire a desire to destroy inner selves outer beings cease, seethe, see.
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1. Powerless to hurt you, I focus my insignificant, transient wrath onto a brief memory. I can only pray, that God may deliver me from hatred, as only He can. 2. Lying together, the folds of the blanket cover our exposed selves: a ritual; a burial. Even though you are gone, I listen for your
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He who has been stabbed leaves the gap open for necrosis. A pair of diving eyes minds it as they dance behind the yellow line. What irony, for the victim to play his own murderer. The train of thoughts leaves the station. “I tried to keep the knife away,” you still say; your hands grasp the handle.
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Put on your second-hand smile and beg for forgiveness. Karma comes, like a knife through water: it seeks you. A confession before a firing squad: inevitability, with your eyes wide open, to take it all, in. Accepting, receiving, you wait: for a punishment you think you deserve, for a crime you think you committed. Where
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devote your life to the art of hate. devote your life to waste. solidify your anger into something tangible. something you can grasp, and pass on. suffice to say, let it go, let it all go away.
ugly stage 