bare, a beast of all sorts,
the kind, unknown, unnamed,
desire, perhaps, or even the want.
peeling back layers upon layers,
haunting like venom dressed in velvet,
freaky, misdirected, and led upon.
devotion and lust drink from the same glass,
the champagne poured in by the hands that sculpted brass
into silver,
now mistaken for diamond shine
razor sharp, pricking at the slightest touch,
reaching all the way behind to grasp
the thin fiber of reality that separates.
distance barely existing,
trembling hands trying to pull away the curtains
that hide behind the mesh covering the eyes—
like silk over barbed wire,
perfume resembling the stench of blood,
metallic, almost glittering upon a caress.
curling upon the sheets like smoke in a fire grate,
in spirit, in being, in a soul tie so strong,
the red string pulled taut—
circling the fingers, going all the way up the arm,
slithering and coiling like a snake around the neck,
possession lacking in need.
war report disguised as a love note,
signed in lip stain.
warmth where the danger lives,
close to the flames that can destroy whole,
turned into ash, not mere blackened soot—
violet seize amidst grey sample.
rotten, wholly spoilt,
always a dance,
circling around, close—oh so close,
yet so far.
the truth about forever,
which exists in eternity,
for the while the self survives—
cherry-soaked bodies
living below the ransacked lair.
unspoken, the eyes connect,
few faded visions filled with anomalies,
and a step further up ahead.
grip loose, just way too loose,
accept the chances at running,
escaping right after the wisp of contact—
entangled fingers slipping as the light dims,
furthermore, the radio in the very corner
plays the same track from the first ever night—
with or without you,
don’t touch—don’t glance, don’t do.
torn between staying to take away the soul
or leave behind a heart wrapped in a ribbon.
the blackening veins, cinematic mugshot,
before ties around the wrists and eyes up at the skies—
give up—give up—breathe in, let be.
+92, look at me—do you hear it too?
the sound of bells, calling upon all the wanderers,
the bare ones, yet to hold any other.
too generic, exceptionally quiet,
concentric circles of the eyes,
tired of novocaine—
about all that you don’t see,
put the **** away.
solely a white, white lie,
blazing remembral speaks in starlight.
numbing ache around where the fingerprints remain,
tunnel vision, staring right at you,
at the way you move.
the last ticket, the last trip—
no turning back.
dripping cocoa down, round from the ceiling,
the mirrors speaking monstrosity,
reflections sharing a breath—
en route, in the midst of almost,
leaving behind all casualties,
end this trip—
while going down and low,
and back into the graves where we slipped out from.
messy messy messy me
