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
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
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
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
revealing the rot
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.
Why does everyone I love
yearn to become
Forfeit the walk-away
lay your head
on my thighs,
close your eyes
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
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
The light is too perfect,
& I’ve lost days and nights
searching for you
the finest conclusion
is finding you’re not an illusion
the mind loses itself in
reading nuclear waste phrases
roosting in hostile architecture
& 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
When I stand in front of you know I stand behind glass & walls of invisible barricades always & if I had it my way this looming battle turret would never run out
Codeswitching determinant on the crowd I’m surfing, sniffing mellifluous lines hellbent on feeling the high of measuring up. I am an enemy of my own bust for its age and its cracking.
A seething perfectionist lacking the art of perfection. A demolition I’m too lazy & overwhelmed to repair. Guilty of the easy double standard, livid I am completely unnecessary. God forbid I ever own my own power. It’s a silent overtaking.
I am catastrophic; the last role model you ever need. Apt to pondering if an applauding audience is faking it. Opening doors with rapt knuckles & laying out red carpets for misfits. I react violently with my own vulnerability, I may react the same with you, too. That’s no fault of ours. Abuse is …
the fine line between playing the role and saying the title. Don’t get excited over something so satirical.
Honesty like blood splatter and I’m wearing white.
‘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?
so much I want to say
given things have changed
& I feel I’m on this island alone
with a fucking telescope
I admit I swerved the eclipse
because I wanted to sleep
& it was blood red rare, too,
thirsting for lunar ooze
I don’t need your word
because actions s pi ll the same
[ definite ]
& I’m not impressed anymore
I am only fascinated
because they’re repetitive