Through the madness,
Into the stars of acid.
You are the crystal to my clear, oh dear.
It began with a taste that never lost it’s flavour.
Not again, but it looks like I’m drowning in your sulk of sin.
This is the best part I know.
When I breathe you so hard.
You begin to lose your breath.
Through the edge of velvet.
Warm skin frost on the curve of your lips.
Kiss the rain under tattoo skies.
What if the sun could write a book about incompleteness.
So enthralling, that your skin burns off.
If you could read every word I wrote.
So unimaginative, you turn into the sweetest dragonfly landing on my arm.
It is those clear days that I can sleep sigh-fully on the wings of this dragonfly.
Fly boundless, fly neither.
There is some fiction in the tale of cancer,
It feels like a moonlight without reflection.
“A spoiled moon in the curse of a ship wreck.”
It seems like I’m dragging dirt in your ocean.
I don’t want to kiss the sound, inept pale reflection.
Now that you feel,
An aspiration of dust on the cashmere of your blanket.
Flowers grow here, but the prettiness is nothing like the flowers you grow on concrete.
There’s a strong desire to spit on clouds without tripping.
And the passion ran out the door like a house cat.
Fade my skin in used photos and mercury soup.
She ate me up with single plurals and unnecessary rhymes.
I am that way in many ways lost for words.
I found myself yesterday.
The clouds slipped away beneath the spaces of your fingers.
I use to be the desire that overflowed from the mouth of madness.
We define calm like a tooth being pulled out.
Soothing as liquid metal down your throat.
I feel so reckless and strange,
Words of things often misspelled and unsaid.