I myself am vacant.
He is in it for the violence,
she is lazulite sea,
I still see his bullet wounds.
You know it’s sultry,
me finding my red refuge,
skin in blood satin
like live people will notice.
I plead to join them,
for the ripples of my dress
to be like the winds
killing jewels and men.
For I myself am vacant.

I see so many addictions,
special labels.
These clean surfaces
are getting old,
I want to be white dust
but I fall away
and you can clean me up
but I’ll still clutter
in my own little way.
The day is like a dream
except I don’t sleep.

Somebody give me a spine.
I need support for my head
and all of its rocks
that are no longer stars.
It doesn’t know what friends are
and so became unlit
like pebbles from another time.
I can’t think straight,
surely I’m a useless case.
I’m dissociative.
Where can my spine be?

When you think it is over
there’s a gushing light
and then it’s blue.
I can make out my clothes,
my covers in the shadow
but it’s dark and I
I just want it to be over.

I lurk on the surface;
a two headed monster.
Though I hold one eye open
it’s hard to depict
who is true, who is of use.
Whether they are using me
or are useful to see
how it will go down when
I find a similar fish.

There was a hand
it used to be golden
but then it met hers
everything became tainted
like the ground she laid in

Anything, she said
I will draw the smoke
you will draw the big round eyes
she was in awe
the other just had to say the word

Let us be a little less dark
I’ll treat you kindly
I think you’re a depiction
of something i could love
when we get some warmer light

There is a hand
it used to be golden
but it paddled in blood
everything became tainted
like the ground she lays in.

To lower myself to their watch
with their black eyes,
knowing eyes.
There’s no love poems,
just eyes and lifeless bodies,
non feeling, not levitating
like you would think.