There’s a moving portrait above my sink,
her cheeks are pudgy,
her skin is pink.

Her eyes are melting,
teeth fallen out,
her noose is bleeding
a river of doubt.

The portrait screams,
she cries for aid,
she tells a dead god,
that he could have stayed.

No oil,
no paint,
no canvas,
not a brush;
Instead this portrait feels and aches,
her rawness still to gush.

Yet dusk is dusk,
and by dawn it is dawn.
You may look for such a portrait,
to find that it is gone.

Not a finger nail in sight,
not a single clogged hair.
It begs but one question:
Was she ever really there?

Sickly sweet boys fill honey combs like goblin hands in tiny gloves.
They taste like gummy vows and glass letters.
These boys will rot you from the inside out,
painting organs with grainy sugar,
which dissolves to sour acid.
Beware!

Sickly sweet boys know the right flavours,
yet their labels are flawed.
Always lick before biting.
Toothaches are common,
but sugar rushes won’t last forever.

Sickly sweet boys don’t stay sweet for long.
Candy loses tang over time,
coating is just coating.
Inside is a viperous liquid that oozes like oil.
Ebony, boiling, sticky.
Your tongue will never be pink again.

Things feel different when you’re drunk,
Things feel rubber when you’re drunk

I thought I was smart enough to know that five m&m’s isn’t a meal

Frozen feet,
Hot oatmeal,
White noise,
Blurry letters.

Days melt into each other,
The passage of time now a soupy broth of numbness.
Distractions,
Sleep.
It’s not enough.

Dried up watercolours call my name,
Where’d you go?
I’m sorry, I’ve been awfully busy.
I’ve been carving faces into walls.
I’ve been eating my nails just to feel something.
No taste yet, but I’ll keep you updated.

His flesh is made of tulips and glitter,
He takes like spice.
I run my fingers through his honeycomb strains,
And I admire my beautiful boy.

His tongue preys into my words,
Taking me as his own.
Skin hot, and blood boiling.
I am his tonight.

But then my eyes dry,
My tongue finding itself again.
But he is nowhere to be found.
How could such a lovely building have no furniture?

I want to delve inside him,
Sink into his chest,
Become him for a day.
My greatest fear is that there’s no one to become.

My beautiful boy is that and nothing more.
Is it enough?
Will his hot skin keep me warm through the winter?

All I know is his morning eyes
And mountain teeth give me something I’ve never felt before
And maybe that’s all I need;
For now

Black hair between my fingers,
Pink vapour in my lungs,
Cryptic wishes and longing for something I’ll never find.
These are the nights that I never forgive but always forget