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


missing woman’s haunting songs

Why does everyone I love
    yearn to become
      someone else?

         Forfeit the walk-away
          lay your head
                              on my thighs,
                  close your eyes
           & sleep,
                    anyway/if it’ll help

             The dream you have of yourself
        where you conquer this world,
               was never fictitious, nor over
           across the abyss of dark matter
                        tuning your light

              to human chords


a girl prays to muses for mantic truths

Glassed over an’ fixated my gaze can’t traipse after your fine act, can’t blindly pause this obsession, incensed into hysterics from droll mistakes shortstopped by a smartphone. I’m always on standby. You keep me busy. I’ll try to make this worthwhile.

Technology is our lifeline doubling as my supple noose. Pull the lever, I’m falling up, anyhow; I make love with my executioner. He showed me how to die. It was the last thrill of my life.

I befell him multiple times, always a random character build. Singing gold bird box on the mantle, gothic tortoiseshell and porcelain worth a fucking fortune. Somewhere between reliance and reliability like caring for a useful antique —>
                   more & more I’m too close now
            to tolerate being a moment too late



The light is too perfect,
   & I’ve lost days and nights
            searching for you

                  the finest conclusion
         is finding you’re not an illusion
                my Yarborough

        the mind loses itself in
                   replicating soundless
            rhetoric twenty-four/seven

       reading nuclear waste phrases
           roosting in hostile architecture
              sipping paint
                 & toxic water

                 I didn’t need to see the bomb
         to know the effects of its radiation
            I did not have to see you
                 to fall in love with your focus


cruel & unusual punishment

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             Loading….    a front desk agent
     the Hatter’s white hare, unpaid vacation |
       sleeves fastened around back

             the only one who showed for tea

            repositioning my skeleton
                ready to spring @
                  the phone

          but it rings
              it rings
                  leave a message

    just waiting for your check in
        to the Heartbreak Hotel

        knowing you’ll not walk out
          the same / if you walk out at all


AUTHORS NOTE: Inspired by Besomorph

the body bag on route 27

Sleep alone: you require the comfort of dreams, not me, in fact I think you’ll be just fine without/

      What good is lost
             without a map to civilization
      what is human but pavement
          where a brain can scatter like
              open jars of silky marbles all across
                the barely lit highway

         organs dry-abandoned alongside the carcass
               & in the milky eyes of the corpse
      Death reflects
                        its presence

                 for some, not soon enough


a girl teaches a foreign language to a prince

‘each glitch stranger than the last,’ she said, scrolling through pages & pages of thoughts fired off like geometric pyrotechnics. highbrow on the off chance.

encroaching on restless perusing these rituals embedded in text messages and proclamations of love shy of fifty seconds because less than a minute is all you really need to get your point straight across. thirty gigabytes in a month guaranteed.

vaudeville is gone but its villians remain | are you urged to forfeit everything for aweworthy amenities knowing the responsibility falls on fickle destiny in invisible spaces?