We drop bombs,
that splash,
that drip,
that fall with reckless abandon.

Kiss each other,
like feathers,
like hummingbirds,
like we've been waiting.

Smiles light fires,
ignite skin,
ignite ribcages,
ignite the entirety of my skull.

Brosco sips demons,
cups runneth over,
his back snaps like a twig.

Brosco rests,
sunlight stings his wounds,
whipped by roots in italics.

Brosco stares,
and sees warm fire,
and carefully embraces.

Brosco sighs,
takes in sweet, poetic breaths,
smiles ignite his heart.

title
                     fade in

dense breath,
picked up by dull wind

lips move,
mouth something unnoticed

knees shake,
and toes play it off

"No, it's okay."
"No? Or it's okay?"

two heads turn,
one for each shoulder

four eyes dart,
two for each shoulder

fade to black
                                   scene

Godhood sickens me,
set my hands ablaze,
free my brain,
I want to cry no more,
I always had trouble holding my *****,
be an Angel.

Today I woke up,
and put my pants on backwards.
Today I sat down,
and drank coffee out of a pipe.
Today I got up,
and ripped my socks wide open.
Today I ate food,
and it sat with me like an elephant.
Today I laughed,
and my makeup smeared.
Today I cried,
and I **** near bust a gut.
Today I got bored,
and then I stopped being bored.
Today I went to sleep,
and I stopped calling it "today."
Today I dreamed,
and I couldn't move well.

Today went just as I expected.

"That's a lot of eyes."
"What, two?"
"No. Well."
"What?"
"I think you have more
      than just two..."
"What?
     No,
          I have two."
"That's not what I meant."
"Okay."
"I know
      that you know
                what I meant."
       "Maybe..."
"Don't maybe me."
"Sorry."

"What do you see now?"
"Now?"
"Right now."
     "******* everything."
"How so."
"Lots of eyes,
      remember?"
"Mmhmm."
"Well,
            you asked."
"What does everything
       mean?"
"I don't know,
       but i see it.
                                         All of it."

Get out of here.

I'll be my own **** psychiatrist, thank you very much.

I breathe my water through my ears,
and through my eyes,
so I can prune my brain,
It's not a problem.
I've been doing it for quite a while.

I am a product of
the sockets that hold my eyes,
not dissimilar to children,
and I love to exhale.
It's a pastime of mine.

Kids imitate each other,
I re-imagine,
and mimic like a mime,
like a mime,
mime.

And trust me,
I have a weapon's grade snarl.
I just seem to have misplaced it,
among my manecins,
(I comb Their hair for fun sometimes.)
(Surfer Rosa, Track 7).