Paint in acid
scream into static
through perceptions pallid
with desires archaic and elastic.
It doesn’t really matter
who lies at the other end of the ampersand
smoke and mirror shatter
grinding from glass into sand
yet here we stand
malleable and plastic
underhand
and egocentric
hallowed by introspection.
Our shadows long lost in the tide
with the whispers of deviation
I guess, I shouldn’t have lied
but you were my only means of abstraction.
Now,
we’re just timelessly out of fashion
now,
we’re recoiling from the passion
that was once instilled
visceral
riled
so sweetly sacramental.

My mind turns in perpetuity
with no destination
as the phantasms are competing
for the grand prize;
my last stray of sanity.
They fracture the darkness
with their taunting iridescence  
never failing to catch my eye
when they’re throwing their very own pageant
held in honour of me.
They dance with one another  
clashing from time to time
spitting their chastised replies  
the only reprieve is found when I open my eyes
after listening to the echoes
of all those beneath me
and at 5’ 3”
there shouldn’t be many.