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


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.


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


wanted: paint respirator

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
       of ammunition

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.


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?


the cruel diagnosis

there’s 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
           with                                             infinite

                             I am only fascinated
                                 with abrupt

because they’re repetitive