☆
drinking air like flame
a moth inside a lantern
the passion in pain
☆
burning desire
the rapture of heat
self immolation
☆
acutely consumed
and terminally alive
chronic thoughts of love
☆

there is something up there
bending burning melting hurting
and it keeps me silent

scintillated leaves
a cold piano sits
separated lights glinting over black
organic liquid crystal
made of melted sleep
silk screen politics
upheaval and sink

despite popular belief
your hands do not bend the light of the sun
your lips do not pour truth and sugar
and there are scissors in your gaze

sitting next to your decisions
i let them hold my hands
and hold my mouth on your command
six pounds of fine print
six pounds of guile
you only love me when im silent

i am not stupid
i am not a fire prince
nor will i live to earn something that you refuse to give
however there are other factors, always,
like survival

kaleidoscope collage
your cuts are carefully connected
fingers of precision and denial
this was your causing and creation
and yet your language is laced with words as if you would be hurt by my exile

perhaps it will come that you understand love
but as it stands you believe it is hunger
to love is to know to demand and control
i pity your vision of family

a sliding scale of humanity
what gives you the idea it is a choice
what makes you think there is a weight difference in voice
like you have the right to someones needs
and reserving them for trials
performance should not be required
for simple decency

and yet here we stand
in front of the pyramids
like women perhaps
but no human for miles and miles

debatable humanity
does he deserve to be known
should he be granted sunlight
and is existence your choice
or is it just because you decided

he should have to grovel for a crumb
have him on his knees
but hes not allowed to ask nor to speak
he must not make his breathing heard
but out of earshot out of thoughts
unburdened fingers in your pockets

which is worse

isnt that convenient

ive heard you turn and your lips say you love him
but hands murmur other words
or is it more a scream
from the lungs he has known
words mean nothing
(tell that to the ropes at his wrists)
but if you are not aware
that there is more to this
he will remain yet hopeless

a hesitant pencil
but will tell her will tell him will tell her
and i will be the one who is argued
i will be the target of decision
but i am not a choice
existence forever questioned perpetually advised with viewer discretion
and i will have no voice
will, no, dont, and never had
headed plattered dead
what is desired, is that right?
and tell me its my fault
it is not my place
but i am still human
even if you dont agree
and this is not debatable
despite what you prefer to see