Seep in through the back door,
Soak in the blinding opulence,
Resist the urge to start too fast.
Pull a wire and the room is swallowed in ink.

Limbs like rags dance,
And my skin turns scarlet again.
Let his eyes become mine,
Unclouded by lingering humanity.

Screeching lights filter through the curtain,
Just slide with invisible motion,
Feel the shimmering of a red potion,
The dance judders to its end.

I'm on my own again
It all drips off in the rain,
It all drips off in the rain.

Feel the white light pierce the eyes,
Black, tangled locks of hair hang over my eye,
Used to be so elegant and delicate.
Clumps are hardened in blood.

That sound's so mellifluous,
That draining siren, at the back of the woods,
Distorted by the black trees,
Only to loom, unseeing.

It's such a blinding rush,
To feel the brambles and the sweet
Release of pure, pungent adrenaline.
Blood weeps down my leg
Like the black juice of Deadly Nightshade.

Out there,
In the thick of breathing woods and fresh droplets
Of vapour and dust and invisible life,
Entire oceans writhing with colours and light,
A millisecond for a million growths
To burst upwards and just as quick to die.

Flick a switch and it all evaporates.
Clinical surfaces and straight lines,
In a kingdom of slick whites,
Scrub out every piece of dirt,
Till it slots in with everything else
You've bought. Dull the emotion,
With endless loops of information,
Sprawling chunks of text
On a black glass surface.

Don't push away the problem,
When your thumb prods and slides
Your whirlpool of information
To fill every gap between every conversation
Because you can't bare to let it slip,
Let the grains of truth begin to tumble
in the back of your mind, the realisation
That you're petrified of spending
A moment alone in the void.
So you look and laugh on your own,
And **** the satisfaction from yourself,
And the coax out the momentary simulation,
Housed in a glass box.

Skeletal trees loom
Like old fathers, emaciated.
The dead walk the streets,
And wind pierces flesh.

There is no snow;
The sky could buckle
From the weight of the clouds,
Smothering you with their
Stark white, dense light.

A shuffling row have eyes like lead,
And their skin is grey and beaten.
Their presence is a weight.
Rows and rows, like sardines
Packed without air.

Shrug it off.
They'll dissolve soon enough.
They'll be washed away
By the coursing river of time.
Why act when you'll have forgotten
By next week? The sun will rise
Tomorrow, why interrupt or
Stamp your foot in the stream?

Avert your nervous eyes,
Cling onto something without consequence.
Swallow orders like pills,
Let them envelop you,
Until your mind is a vessel
And the images presented to you
Are the host.