these billows
of smoke
ploddingly
smothers
the willows
of provoke

my left wrist is stinging
and the choir's stopped singing
i'm trying my best not to let these scars rise
because all i've got are butcher knives

and it wouldn't be very nice
to make a mess in someone else's kitchen
i don't know where the rags are i can't
clean up the puddles

puddles are pretty pretty
they're pretty good mirrors
they're pretty unclear
(you can't really see)

and the best part is they
show a more distorted
illusion of me
a version i thought i would never be able to see.

I'll never forget
my first one.

The tree was
aglow;
branches
blazing
with enormous,
yellow and orange,
halcyon sunflowers.

A glorious heat
pulsated
up my back,
their magnificence
radiating
through all
my senses.

My eyes:
wide,
taking-in
every iota
of this visual
majesty.

Transfixed,
in a state of
awe,
my photographic
memory
came into
play.
Snapshots
of
those giant suns
forever imprinted;
negatives pressed,
into my mind.

A night to remember;
when halcyon sunflowers
danced
on the limbs
of trees and
the branches
of my mind.

Sometimes love is as real, as a mirage in a desert

Your touch closes my eyes
I let your words traumatise my mind
Your breath dampens my skin,
Provoking apocalyptic thoughts from within

The trickle of your touch
Is eating at my mind,
I keep your desires fed,
Thirst and hatred intertwined

Disrupting my insides
My lips escape discordant harmonies,
As in you I confide,
That the truth's foreign to my eyes

You remain my fixation
A sinister hallucination
Occurrences of formination
Are my self-rehabilitation