Tweet tweet! what a beautiful bird I am,
The sun a yellow comb, strokes
My little juniper tree and me.
La-dee-da.

I’ll fly across
The stone yew and its chuffing
Fugue.

I’ll watch the
Shotgun wedding of
smoke and leaves.

I'll watch their breathes
Catch and stumble
While the chimney boys sing
And the choir boys weep.
La-dee-da.

Filthy bird song! They shout
Like bullets.

As I fall onto my mother's nest.

She’ll unfold her downy hands
And there in the tickled pits of her palms,
Will splutter and wail
A filthy black bird
With its filthy smoked cloak

And
Her eyes will glaze,
Returning my dismal hums. She
Will fetch a shiny name for me
In the cracks of bourgeois cobble.
****!

And it will all just be a joke
La-dee-da

And I will be a joke
La-dee-da

And I will stretch my wings
and

drown.

Within my veins
A toxic craze
Itches and swells.
It paints
China white skin
Rose red,
Ardent with haste.

It takes the skies,
Fills it with diamonds
And in the nights,
Reduces the stars to
Nothing more than coal.

Mad hat men
Line the streets,
They blow blue kisses
That float my way
In rings of smoke.

And when I visit
The same dark holes
Of yesterday.
They’re filled with rabbits
White as chalk,
Scattering,
like dropped marbles.

After cold nights
When dawn drapes the sky
In new clothes,
Stray cats flood the pavement
In choirs
Ready to sing us into the new day,
All while I pretend
I'm not slipping down this rabbit hole.

We lay on clean cut sheets,
Bedouin Societe draped
Over her shoulder
And I
Cold. Behind her Always.

Peach fuzz silk, skin
Flushed pink at the ears
To die at the nape.
How prudent the light is
That falls to her side
Obedient and strange
Clinging to the figure like
Tailored satin.

Christ, even breath
moves with grace
Along the shoulder blades
So supple and sweet
Back down again in progression.
Slow dancing to the ballad of dream.

I hear hesitation in the footsteps
Something is wrong
Two left feet lovers
Trip and trample
She stirs, amorous,
So sweet and simply.
Lips parted, wet.
I take the time to watch

Music stops.
Fresh panic takes hold of her skin
From silk to braille.
Months of work reflected in
Eyes quickly swelling with dread
I forgot shadows aren’t invisible.

Swift lover in the night,
I collapse through the window
My lady, her banshee cries
Plucks my heartstrings
In the chord of betrayal
How audacious.

In a sense, on the first day
I fell in love with music
Was my very first PULSE

The feeling of drums in my head
The vibrating excitement it gives,
Like someone knows my heartbeat
And has given it back to me
In the form of song.

On the second day
Opera and rhapsodic cries
Bring me tears
And taught me how to weep.
Shared with me my own experience
How they found them,
I will never know

On the third day
A fire was set in my throat,
I shouted words that were much more
Than words.
On that day, music taught me pain,
It showed me anger
It showed me passion

On the fourth day
I was possessed
My body was something greater
Ethereal movements
Controlled by strings
A puppet to the violins
And broken by piano keys.

The fifth day however
Was silence.
Possibly the most painful music
I’ve ever dared listen to.

I suppose we wear our traumas
the way the guillotine wears gravity;
our lovers necks are so soft.
So sweet
Too innocent;
Kisses like cold, corrupt metal.

Those seven seconds of silence
When you wait for anything;
Any sign that they understand
What you’ve been through
waiting in those seconds
To be reassured by
‘I love you’

Sitting in dust of a dark room
Confiding in them your secrets
Those seven seconds of silence
They **** you.

On edge, free falling
The guillotine dropping in your stomach
Eyes desperate for reassurance
at complete mercy
To this person
Right in front of you

And when they hug you
Brought your head out of danger
Shattered the blade

Saved you from death

Loved you to life

That guillotine,
Nothing more
Than fear of being unloved

I am,
I will do,
however many times,
verily, I say to you,
that I am about to die

I am so close.
I can hear his breathing
Behind me when I walk
And I see his shadows behind me
Whenever I look.

However subverted I may seem,
Scythe marks replace footsteps
satirical monologue replace thoughts
Awkward uncertainty replace fate

I am no fool.

I am not ignorant

I just seem to know that
death is very close to me
And I am certain
Beyond all doubt
That there is no foreseeable future

This isn’t a monologue reading of my depression
I am not reciting verses to cure myself
Of these thoughts
in hopes that they will leave me

I’m simply here to express
My distaste for the living
How sweet those secret kisses I stole from death
when we shared the shadows

so in fact
I am not dying
I am falling in love
Which is just the same thing really