no anesthetic.

I don’t know where the words went, where they began or where they end. I know you whisk them into candy threads and my brain is struggling to vocalize those impish scenarios for the ink on your hand. Secrets slip so quickly out of my fingers lately, it’s a wonder they stay locked behind my teeth. You’re beautiful when you sleep.

In the meantime I am scraping by consistent & constantly relying on scratching this undying itch… ripping my skin to little wilted pieces. It’s stress. I’m a magnet for it but you’re the first and only thing in life where I’ve never had a single regret. Call it fate or divine, call it whatever you want as long as worlds combine. Pure manifestation, you’re the end of the assembly line like 3D printing, knocking them all back because I’m always drinking. You’d think I have an affair with black cherry instead of vous de droit, turned my heart into a bloom of passionfruit. Eight percent alcohol by volume. The color I spit in the shower is damn near the shade of one more new bruise.

Maybe my meantime is designed to be pleasurable painful. The real definition of fetishist. A real brutally honest assessment for the hell of it.

–LM

moribund

Your absence
        is poison
        yet your voice
            keeps me lucid

A ketamine regime
        you lead
    & it’s bearing your brand
      \sweeping swept
                       this mess

& in this pile of dust
I will wait for your manifestation
         consecrating nothing
                 I will wait____
           《patience is a virtue》
 
for your ebony keyquill memory
      I hold my last breath
         for a show of treachery

–LM

lore.

 sing me to sleep
             so beautifully I can’t resist
                the subtle
                         internal
                            dialogue
          a chorus of ethereal crescendos
                                  & their echoes
           falling me down, calling me back
                 to a time I was not born to
                     shifting |strong| in this vessel
   
               there’s blood in their voices
                      & its power speaks
               in dreams I make love
                                        to the shaman
                                        wear her talisman¤
                                 in dreams I make love
                                        to his majesty
               like I won’t l as t the night

      Living off the lonely lockpicker
                       paying only
                                   in silver
                        in dreams I am banféinní/
                        when the music stops
                        I am a survivor
                              &    you cannot afford
                                           my soul

–LM

§2-204.

Language has been my
                            whole life
                & why I can’t seem to grasp
                          it by the throat

without slicing it
                           rAw is so unknown…

                     It’s an aggressive relationship
 
        Sitting pretty be damned
              the language plots against me
                      at every turn
                shocking and delightful
                dressed scintillating like an expensive
                                                  whore

Is this my “girlfriend experience”?
           I’d pay money to watch her go
                    but I have to trap her
                         I’m that sort of bastard

   –LM

[Quick authors note: I planned on titling this Domestic Violence but for fear it may trigger some or click bait others I’ve not]
         

wounded caricaturist

      Localized cryotherapy
& poignant telepathy
                 are the cures I’d had
                                   in mind

      They say sleep can be the cure-all
                   but that’s without any menthol
              so I’ll let the crowd decide

             What shape, my silhouette?
       Does it adorn horns/is it scorned
                  is___ fate, your marionette?
                  Wait,
                             don’t tell me yet,
                        don’t utter a word
                      I want to be wrong
                Let the shivers tell me I’m wrong
                   
                            Let them softly say,

Re _____ drawn.
         

-LM

Step Lightly

When where and what
                    do I feel is the truth?
          There is __
                             no more war but
                            I feel you   s
                                                    n
                                             a
                                       k
                                             i
                                                  n
                                        g

           through
                     my minefield
                                    somehow
                                            blissfully
                                                    undetected/yet

                                        these sensors may
                                        EXPLODE if you
                                           choose to get
                                                   |tooclose|

     & it is a selfish mechanism
                 but I trust
               when I want to let loose
                  and show
                                       Emotion
  
                        You’ll let me go
                                    & feel it
                              because there is
                                no protection
                                     I can offer
                                  [like I’d offer]
                                          You

              simply because you’re afraid
                          that what’s pouring out of me
                             may spray onto you
                                                            Too.
           

-LM

Whiplash

Break me back into place
   soothe these aches
       I’ve got whiplash/need a neck brace
          from
                  monitoring the violent gradients
              of this       slapdash_spectrum
                    Light ———gray——–>dark
                     
                    Spinning at the top like a top
   & we all know there’s nowhere to go
                            from there than to
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                      |
                                  DROP

             I’ve got all my marks to prove it
                           And now my bones
                                   yearn for relief
    I guess while I was searching for yours
                                   I barricaded my own
                                         skeleton key
               & I want the blood rush
                         be my human naloxone
          Bring me back
                       Bring me back to life
             Countdown from three minutes…
                         Two|

–LM