I can feel your little bites, like parasites
breaking down effervescent days
into still, silent nights; prying porous flesh
with the scent of death,
lingering in cratered moonlit breath.
Is this where i was meant to be led,
repeatedly fed, to these hungered hands?
again, my feet scrape this familiar path
wearing down the dirt that buries me,
internally. covering everything that hurts,
so i can never be allowed to scream.
split my lungs and let them seep,
release all i have held in when i breathe;
weak waves and shallow water
my song is carried, but still, it falters.

feel my microscopic actions and
minuscule movements
as i crawl between your flesh
robbing you of nutrients;
trying to survive and thrive, like little
parasites

Creepy crawlers, horrors, and lawyers
keep enforcing these busted borders.
They're stalking my chalk lines;
exploring the fine folds where time slows
And my songbirds carry broadswords,
so it's good morning, Deathblows
every time the pendulum tolls.
My silhouette is wedged between
two threads protruding from my neck
and Beelzebub possessed the helm just
to twist my alphabet into a triple threat,
so when I speak the receiver has
to navigate an end-game quest.
But I promise I'll do my best
against these wretched guests
so long as you heed my request
and enjoy yourself no matter
where the road lays etched.

-SLuR & S.K.G.