The sun would always come out a little after
the mind massacre
- follow the monsters-
i fancy lying on the
hard floor
because it is the only place
where the train of vertebrates in
my spine
can set in its rails.
i am a void
bleeding out oxidised civilisation
-holes in my head-
in a world where colours
are just fabricated memoirs
of porcelain filmstrips.
i fear that i am becoming anorexic:
my brain is splattered onto
a tiny plate
-emaciated-
where i maliciously
pick out the
soft and pretty
bits.
My tongue is cancerous,
segregating words into
Pinks' and greys'.
my heart has malformed into
an ugly blister
-swollen-
milking saps
of dismal yesterdays.
i'm swimming
alone
in an acid bath
of bleach and ice.
can't find the light
-the light-
beneath the glass
-the night-
of the
-decaying-
chandelier.