I remember the weight of his body
Towering over me,
Ensnaring the torn mesh of my skin,
Concealing the crevices he's embedded me in.

The mass of his force,
That spark traveling through his velocity,
Littering my ability,
To resist and penetrate the vein of impalpable pleasure.

He keeps it contained,
At the bottom of the river,
Beneath the hidden plain,
Of his repressed, departed soul.

Acetic fizzed, frothing exhale,
Pirouetting through my nose.
Its toxicity starts to unfold,
And he wants me to recognize  
The power of his redundant trickery
Engraved in his smirking bloodshot eye.

Currently inhabited in the crevices on the walls
Separated from one side to the other,
Contemplating my fall.
Fixated on the perimeter
Collapsing in on me
My time and being is micro,
Micro-me is managed until the crevices release
My inevitable sea of crumbs.
My inevitable sea of crumbs.

Frequently gazing in the cracks on the floor
There's a light too bright coming in,
Impenetrable for my eyes,
Beneath lies a cultivating door.
Illustrating my final chances
But the floor's ascending on me,
Slowly taking me.
My time and being is micro
Micro-me is managed until the cracks receive,
My irrevocable sea of crumbs.
My irrevocable sea of crumbs.

Beneath the mask quivers and shivers weak and fragile flesh
Frigid and frozen with chills of fear.
I am crippling in-security secured, where they countlessly hide and whisper at the endings of each breath
Riddles veiled with gleams of chemicals disposed and recomposed between night and day,
Until the light hits it and the wind gusts it and incessant defections rise from the deepest depths of my horrific broken authenticity.
And they are all staring at me.
But this time not into the toxicity of my rusty razor eyes.

Beneath the mask is where my falling tears secrete
Pouring vacancy as a smile that feels more like a cracking cut that screams, "I do not belong here" , forms and quietly disarrays.
Buried, piercing eternal reminders that what is shrouded is and never will be clean.
Dig far enough and you'll unravel my roaring encrypted codes.
I want to feel the inner me. I want to let go. So please let me go.
I'm sick, surveying perplexed eyebrows and transient smug slugs that pass through me like a hundred and five venomous knives.

Beneath the mask rests squashed hope branded in the never seen.
Examine the clothed truth that's mounting me into a false entity
If only this was an illusion derived from my bitter history.
But the lights begin to flicker as endless passing heads and lifeless expressions come and go. Stop requested.
The laughing fluorescence continues.

Beneath the mask, recycled empty, plasticity.
Carried with titanium, Styrofoam delirium, impalpable veined elasticity.
And if you come close enough you may just see,
From the scabs and scrapes of doom that are bombarded by and masqueraded with false decadence.
Clipping the wings of individuation,
Don't label me innocent.

Beneath the mask are humorous symbols, layered with obscurity and decay residue.
Of shattered dreams and scattered stars drenched in solitude.
Guide me to the darkness so I can feel blended in, meaning comfortable in my own crumbling skin, and once again soak into my unsuccessful fantasies.
Cause I am stifled from a thousand suffocating bandages weighing me down,
I am the under-works of the ground, sleeping in the soil.
Like meds morphed into led, showered with alcohol.

Beneath the mask it is hard for me to breathe
It is hard for me to belong and it's hard for me to believe
Seek and create your deciphers and you will find deception draped in reverie.
But I've been inflicted with a mistaken realism.
Destined for something that will seemingly never ever be.

I am captivated behind nauseating smirks and painful smiles
So today please let me astray so I can remove this mask for just a little while?

Echo, cricket,
Thump, stump.
The very loud things
Galloping through the silence.
The creaking of stairs like the breaking of bones
That snapped tin cap,
Clinging onto the prophesied labor of your last breath,
Oscillating through your liquefied ontology.
Ethanol overflown and embodied.

Cricket cricket,
The underlying intrinsic.
The empty tone of a distant voice.
The spaces of letters and words so magnified
So wide,
Expanding like an unstoppable void.
Oh my,
Here it comes,
Shadowed by your hissing tongue.
You are glittered,
Pinnacle bitter.
Cloaked in pure white.
Not a thread of disguise.
Twinkle, twinkle,
Buggy, rugged eye.
Those razor touched lines,
Translucent and caressed,
Reminiscent and enmeshed,
Like faded pale stripes,
Hugging the armor of canvas flesh.
Walking among these thin lines,
Head down, musky powdered stench,
Awaiting the inevitable rise and fall.
Of the intangible crux of a hollow memory,
Woven inside the synthetic fabric of the undelivered.
Oceanic cold shiver,
Piercing through our empty, untethered souls.

Red lines spiral, bleeding all around me.
Meandering through spaces of consciousness so wide.
Carnivalesque carnivores galore,
Silently laughs and takes a ghostly step inside.

An unblinking eye arises and hides behind the tainted clouds in the painted sky.
I see it crawl beneath the surface,
Gazing into the images I thought I had buried alive.
It's peaking through the dirt where he decadently sits,
Staring behind bars of dust with his razor eyes glaring at my wrists.
Where my innocence slept itself to death,
And cradled its soul beneath stacks of broken stems of the mind.

Red flags are waving
Red eyes are staring
Behind sheer curtains
When I exit the door, dreaming.
Radiating,
All around me
Scorching my skin.
It's hard to think clearly
When the storm begins.
Scabbed wings and itchy spine
I was flying, but now my teeth are starting to grind.
A familiar sequence
Clings to the back of my head
It's hard to breathe clearly
When paranoia befriends,
A real visualization
With no dead end.

Everybody's got a story to tell
Everybody's got something to hide
Everybody's got something to say
Everybody finds someone to divide.

And the beast is finally far away from me
But it's not so far if it's stuck in my mind.
He's got half his head underneath his baby's bed
Full of stuff,
He'll soon grow up to find.

And there's something hunting on the streets again
It's following the coloured prints on a dress.
Another flashback yet again begins
Swimming in my head and through the red
In my veins.

Everybody's got something to share
Everybody's got something to take
Everybody's got something to sell
Everybody's got their forms of prey.

Cloaked in my blankets,
I hear a fulmination of sounds.
The sounds of children weeping,
And of bombs capturing the ground.
I covered my ears and secured my eyes
Only to find that this time around,
These sounds were not inside my mind.

I released my uniformity of quilt,
And stared upon an empty shelf.
I imagined a place of prestige and luxury,
And the greedy percentage of interminable wealth.
I envisioned families with crystallized patios and polished rooftops
With clothing that glistens like gold and parquet floors that exert possessive pride.
Where a vast mass of appliances lie,
And sculptures of dinnerware are overflown.
But my eyes began to water when a flag was waved with an infinity sign,
And stacks of green paper were boastfully thrown.
And way far beneath their intangible table,
I began to feel a vibration of sounds.
The sounds of the powerless praying for just a couple of crumbs,
As the families fed their colossal crowns.