I like him like this. He is a beast towering over the feeble souls, knowing we are in his power.
I lose sense of myself and act within his fantasy,
reborn each night.

There are too many hours in his night, he rejects the clock, tears out the handles, discards the rest to the fire. It consumes a false reality in its blaze and the dark lasts for years. We never age but we have lay here for so long. Mentally, I have become more youth, he extracts any knowledge I had in my ****** life, any experience, all my opinion. Violently he injects me with a stream of his blood to drown it out of me. I bathe in a red glaze which treacles orgasmically down my flesh. I am his clone, part of him always pervades within me. Nothing is real, I live in his video game.

He was beastly restless I wanted to disperse from the room, throw myself over the ledge which gaped onto soulless streetlights.
The LED would have made my black hairs so iridescent if you let my lie down there dead, parched neatly over the drains.

Then you slapped me and I was on the floor in between your legs, my hair wrapped around your right hand and treading over your knee. I was ornate in red lipstick, I was your doll, you were my player. I was the robot I was the programmed one I was a cell paralysed in a body. He sculpted his arms around my torso, his fingers melted into the curve of my jawline. As if to kiss me, yet the cigarette **** disintegrated into my left cheek leaving him permanently there. Pain or pleasure I forgot; I was so immune to his presence forever lingering on my skin in scars.

It was when you would bruise me gently to the serenade of the sunset and the pink skies darted into your gaze and it was hypnotic.
I was locked within you and you slit me open slightly every evening. Wounds healed quickly but the bruises stayed, I have always wanted tattoos and you were such a beautiful artist.
You policed me but you pleased me.
We acted in our movie and you caressed me in pearls you found on the ocean beds in a past life.
I look right, those books pile up and collect our anger in particles of dust they are so grey I have forgotten the titles but they complement the smoke which cascades down the once white walls that I smeared in lipstick every time I wanted you to die.

The walls are an art installation they reveal all that is evil in the world, ending the life of another and slow suicide from the smoke that frames your lungs.
I hate how you carry that knife behind me, but I love it when you cut my hair over the bath and shower me in rose petals.

watch me scatter the solemn ashes of my youth on these trails
A mind so mindless; so enriched with allure pink skies and withering dreams.
One so naive so bluntly ignorant to the cruelty that buries itself under the trails of a rooted fate.
watch me wander watch me waste time

time drips out my eye and slits knots and crosses on my cheeks of the days I have left here on this ground.
air ***** seconds out of my pores mirrors the way honeysuckle spills oudor over the pavements
life evolves around my mind because we know no better and lead to believe we stand alone in this head because you never feel sufficient healing from another body.
there wont be anyone to hold your balance over the hill when the wind speeds through the strands of black which you believe now cover your weak.
there will be no one to tell you you are enough because no one can gather the small linings of this complex mind which layers the life you live.
there is no one to hear you wail in the night as others liger under echoes of LED tones over open windows which stare below onto ghostly pavements.
no one to touch you like you would because you are overdressed and your skin won't be torn open by any other broken hands. feeble hands.
no one to tell you the names of the buildings you study upon you because its no one's concern where you spend your 4pm Sunday on a metal bench parched over the blurred skyline.
people surround you but you are so selfishly blind that you forget they exist.

you will never awake from this elusive state of mind until the reality of life shakes you to stone then you melt into the sheets and forget what daylight feels like on your damp head.

the bench will stay empty and those behind you too one day will disperse into the gravel
your mark has been made here and you life here in this life that you had seen in your visions

don't know how to feel how to speak how to look or how to behave because who are all these people anyway

don't show weakness because your ego is the only thing keeping you strong, hee, present.

and you are one in this world that pans out to illustrate the movie you have thought you are dreaming.

when a sense of thought leaks into the mind and I observe the father let go of his children in the morning and it shoots something so warm through my skin.
everyday you subconsciously fore+get more of the past that you have seen. what counts as experience, is it that of which we see or does imagination intertwine with this story we call life. our sight before us does not differ with our internal visions, nothing is tangible when one stays silent. those people you pass in the street have eyes of their own but what have they thought of what do thy do where do they go after we lock eyes for second. people don't age matter just progresses and stars fly further and move over and we age to become lesser humans in society we age to become relics of a vision that we once had and when we age too well all that of which we see will disappear in atoms. are memories also molecules of atoms. how does one retain a memory in a cell. its an energy a force that consumes us. we spend an untangible number on matter that we feel will drive us further to happiness or to survive.
within hours the moments you think are present fade into seconds that will never repeat. in a second, one scene of the world occurs infinite actions are composed at once by infinite minds. all this world is are minds with a vision. relity is not tangible its a thought its an image we face when we awake what if we don't awake. dreams are only as real as the present just close your eyes.
master the means of the universe the atoms the matter the dust that you are made of and the years you have came from

heart pains of empty
it's as though it's thinning out.
everything that she does to her body
deprives her of nourish.
her heart unravels to bones
we call it *****
no meat no skin, no warmth.
maybe feed on love, or emotion
a substance so foreign
not consumed yet in form.
food poisoning.

the ***** must continue to trace until its flesh spills through those desperate bones which engrave through her chest
for the attention to then be brought.