sandpainting because you can’t color the ocean

Reaching like the Creation of Adam for your hand under crests & waves of pulsating darkness, wishing I had a diminutive chance in Hell of recreating Michelangelo’s vision. Alas I am no artist.

Stars like bioluminescent plankon in this nightmare ocean, and I know you’re not afraid of the tide when it rolls in. Teach me to swim. Show me there is more to prepare for than sharks.

These luciferin lights remind me of collective consciousness reassigned. We live in designations; apply restrictions, we categorize time to fit the schedule of our lives until we die. Shame beautiful things have the devil’s stamp and seal. We’ll drive ourselves mad and evil splitting hairs to be more than human, when we created the gods.


a girl sorts her demons by name & nature

Exposed were you once
                    to my nonresponsive
        event horizon

   a slow exhale was I / soul tightwalking
                  cor – rupt/ure

    always an attempt to balance
      this repetitive precipice
           twixt two sets of character traits


like those of Dorian Gray
              & Sibyl Vane


rise of the galactic center

Blood screaming for a living

   & for all else

     Letting sudden silver sucking
          breath tapering
         I hereby profess the lunatic

           hack me now


AUTHORS NOTE: Inspired by the Northman

cardinal red.

J’adore a good sense of humor, especially tar black & dry as sandpaper. Make me laugh in bone rattles.

You came upon me like a nuclear bomb the shock was radioactive. Now I’m reactive. My semantics are dithyrambic. We’re smoking Pink Lemonade, with which we can touch the sky. I’d love to see your scars pointed out, knowing no amount of bitter will smooth them out.

I know where your fear of heights dissolved
and it’s not so difficult to reconcile. Gift me your voice.

            It’s dust once you realized
                   you had wings

          We need A.I. to write our plot


double the price

Freedom is just a street name
    everybody is only supposed to live on it
                                                & be pleased
                             with the intimation

The jungle we’re allowed

is concrete & graffiti’d green
         lost like millennial children
              they’re both overgrown

       all unraveling

these scars
           on my hands were intentional
       one is a testament
           to my grandfather’s sitting chair

             blue like Breaking Bad methamphetamine
       but drenched in scent
                  his shaving brush
                        whisked away


big shocker

I’ll expose
    my throat
  let me have it

     Lessee if your fame will match it
    if you can stomach black magick
         I’ve seen it a thousand times

                 There are no compromises here
            unbeknownst to the uppercase
       trending instagram worthy faces
                with terrible transitional filters

         this isn’t Twitter or TikTok
    there’s 4chan gore
    between my mattress & the frame
         I’m skating by with
    a blacklight

             revealing the rot


See you.

charred; deliciously carcinogenic
   for the tease of acrylamide

     I think I can
     I think I can

        hitch a ride with the cops
              tasting aluminum & soap
         dropping dimes for a lawyer

             the thinnest layer
        of withering skin

               I’ll never know you
          I can only be grateful
                      for the experience


           on hiatus. it is my hypnotist’s wish.


[do not reassemble
             the picture is unremarkable]

              Cauterize the wound
                   of an imperfect body

          watch & wait for the moments
                          the sickness bleeds
                into my personality

            I’m satisfied none


too tired to be amused

One of the last survivors on planet Earth, losing my legs to the ethereal. Shutting my mouth so you speak, bored to bacon bits with the routine.

I understand in darkest moments why the people you trust hide grenades in mental lockers. Only the best pull the pin for others. Duck & cover. Whisking away their gifts in an emergency kit. Waiting for an inevitable result.

I suffocate my need for confrontation. Tracking where you fall short like reading your internet history. Everyone knows you’re a slave to your senses. I couldn’t care less. They pull all our strings beautifully & beauty is timeless.