“The rest is silence.”"-A. Crowley

I

I will know you only because
you are known to me deep down
beneath the subtle shadows carved
permanently upon your deceivingly
angelic face
sculpted by an artist
nameless to none but the heavy slab of stone
he used to create an ache
I’ve come to want to know as you
whose soft and silent rolling voice
where from there springs the torrents
of a turmoil melting like wax
in the mixed up chasm
of your mind
the destroyer of your smile
the reminder of bad times
that causes me to know you and from where you come
riding in bare-back
jet-black hair flying on
the hated molten roaring
riveted steel furnace
of inner anguish
again
and again
you beautiful deadly diamond black jewelry rose
of unworldly charm and perfected pain.

II

This is how I know you
in the steamy swelter of the nightfall’s
stifling bluish pall
you and I alone somewhere
anywhere
but probably nowhere
between the silken smooth heavenly legs of
here and there inside
the broken smoked crystal chandelier
of an ancient chamber room illuminated by
the flicker of more than fifty slowly disappearing
jutting candle-flames
I know you
because you make yourself known
to me
on the black-satin wrinkled bed-sheets that
we lie
writhing around upon like two
dying dancing angels
being swallowed by the suffocating oil
of a shame we bother created
just like gods
or dancing dancers dancing slowly
dying
in the pallid ***** fuming fog
…dancing with the gods.


you are as I know you
silhouetted in the silence of our
ecstatic shattered sighs
as we fly through lust’s futile passions where
we lie, we lie
we lie…

III

You are crawling across
the one-thousand mile mattress
stalking towards me
starvation’s fire fuels
your steely-sharp brown eyes
leopard-like your lithe,
tiny olive-brown body poised
ready to pounce
ready to strike
arrayed in skin-tight crimson lace
deadliness flashing on your face
your ******* dark and pointy ******* feel
fit for me to fed the song—
I smile—
then with healthy, stealthy fury
you leap
and pin me down
trapping
me between these shiny sheets of coal
and your sweeping feline glowing
perfumed-prison hair
polished glossy ruby fingernails
dig deep
into my massive arms
ivory razor-baring teeth
bite my hips
my neck
my chest
my thighs
you stop just in time
to devour me
delightfully
rocking, reeling in the sounds of us around
the intoxicating scent of your
flaming fountain-***
colognes my livid throbbing burning *****
I yell
I try to scream
I want to cry
…but instead, drift off to dream.

IV

You lie awake
aiting watching and waiting allowing
your imagination and your hands
on a journey to your ever-lingering
flaming fury far beyond the heights of hunger’s call
just as we have done no doubt
without each other
for a long time
in the cold
in and out
up and down
back and forth
body arches
thighs uptight
muscular calves quivering
toenails clenching like an eagle’s talons
on the bed
--lift high your sweet holy offering to the air!

Hands wet and warm fly from the glistening
magic perfect patch of forever music
that makes me want to weep
you scream
I awake
we breathe deep
we go back.
Repeat the scene.

V

Pre-dawn purple painted brush-strokes streak the sky
framed by the window where I know I will find you
in nothing more than a gown of sleek vermillion
light-chamois
that displays the room glow striking at your body’s faint
outline
your slender legs
your precious girlish hips
that golden chain around your waist
Divine
your blushing tearless chiseled cheeks
I arise
and walk behind you
run my trembling fingers up your spine
I still don’t really know you as your sighs compete with
mine
you reach around and lead me away
behind a peeling splintered door
warped and withered with
dismay
where you will teach me how to paint
by spilling your blood in
splatters
upon the floor
in said consequence I
calmly take the blade from
your tiny talking hands
pull your slashed and sliced torn wrists
to my tongue
and slowly lick
with a lingering criminal kiss
the dripping cuts that begin to fade
and go away forever in the day
now that the wounds have disappeared
becoming scarless
bloodless
sere
I can but heal your beaten lost youthful body
although I cannot convince you that
I care.
Daylight here.

VI

I know now that I know now
that I know you
and in the ****
with suntanned bodies wind kiss-hissing
through our hair
we walk side by side
on the blistering shoreline sand
avoiding bits of broken glass bottles
one by one
if we can
slowly strolling to the edge of the
abysmal eternal
emerald omniscient ocean-waves
breaking
ttundering
blanketing our feet
spraying its mist upon
our hands
I stop
you sprint
on diving headlong at the deep
the foamy water roars
and roars
you emerge and approach the shore
standing straight along
beside me
to stare
at a pair of grayish seagulls circling
in the air
squawking songs about themselves
when before the breathing of a minute
one
bird drops dying dead to feed
the never-ending belly
of the sea
the other screeches viciously
mourning
you look
at me
and then I come to know now how to know you
now that you have at last known me
as your part your pink and precious lips
for the first time
we will ever kiss
as you finally cry for
our
reality.

That is not sand left clinging to your cheeks
Just the salty tears we need
To set us free.

Now you can bury you and me.


(Threnody means “funeral chant.”)

My skin is raw from the frequent scalding hot showers.
I want to scrub your fingerprints off my body.
I don’t want to smell of your deceivingly sweet nectar,
I don’t want to feel your lingering embrace any longer.

It is no use.
I know that if someone were to kiss my body,
They would taste the insincere plague of your tongue.
They would absorb your flimsy forevers,
And those tender kisses that were meant for only me.

It is no use.
I cannot forget.
It is impossible for me to peel off these imprints.
So instead I will cover them.
I want to tattoo the first time you kissed me all over my body.
I want to tattoo our beach trip on my thighs.
Our day at the amusement park on my feet.
That’s where the skin is thinnest.
Poke close to my fragile bones.
I want it to hurt as much as possible.
It needs to sting.

Her face, deceivingly empty, like that of a mask
Concealing what lies beneath
Her mask, carved from a slab of marble -
Cold, unyielding, stoic, unconquerable
She cowers behind it like a suit of armor
And brandishes it like a sword against anyone who threatens to come near
But in the darkness, she surrenders
The mask stripped away to reveal her in all nakedness
In solitude, she weeps
In solitude, she longs
In solitude, she succumbs to weakness -
Vulnerable, bare, exposed, trembling
Come daylight, the mask is on again
Deceivingly empty, concealing, hiding
Nobody sees beyond the mask
No one hears the silent cry or the whoop of elation
No one sees her eyes light up or witness her break down in grief
No one feels her longing, no one sees her pain
All they see is the mask.

if love were a color
it would be crimson
crimson like your illuminated cheeks whenever I say your name

love is like a lion cub
deceivingly cute and playful
but in it's depths, deadly

love is a cigarette, lit by a simple flame for enjoyment and pleasure
but slowly releasing toxins into you

if you could touch love,
it would be as rough as a kittens tongue brushing on soft skin

love smells like a newly blossomed rose
that's sweet scent will eventually deteriorate and drift away with the storms

if love were a sound
it would be the prayers that hospital walls consume

if love could speak, it would say:

" caution: falling into me is dangerously easy, while trying to fall out is incredibly hard "

lovely lost lies

love

I have a strange relationship with my across-the-street neighbor.
Every morning, after the coffee *** is brewing and the bed is made,
I enjoy a cigarette or two just outside the front door.
I look across the street and I see him.
Bearded, usually wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and slippers.
On a typical morning he is out before me, about half way through his cigarette.

Although I've lived across the street from him for the better part of two years, I do not know his name.
I know that he smokes Marlboro 100's, just from the way his pack, generally in his cigarette holding hand, looks.
I know he has a wife, and a what seems to be three year old daughter.
I love this man.
I love him and his wife and his daughter and his Marlboro 100's.
Every morning that I see him, it is a sign that I am awake, that this is all real.
For if I were to not wake my mind would not be so cruel as to trick me.
My mind would not be so cruel as to deceivingly use my only sense of comfort against me.

Before daylight savings so rudely interrupted my subconscious schedule, the sun would just creep above the low tree line behind the man's house as he put out his cigarette and go inside.
On some days, I imitate him shortly after, dropping my cigarette and returning inside.
On other days, days when I need all of the tobacco in my cigarette, which have been occurring more often than they used to, I follow him more slowly. I stay outside until the sun is completely out from behind the tree line. Some days, as was the case this morning, I need two cigarettes to properly prepare me for the day.
And on these days, the man returns outside, with his baby girl in his arms and his wife following behind.
They all pile into his grey Toyota pickup and are off.
Where to, I know not.
All I know is that I will see him tomorrow.
And I love him for that.

in the right corner of your room,
the white paint is peeling away,
to pick at it & watch the entire
thing collapse upon you.

much like the empty things i feel:
nothing but chipping little flakes;
fragile little waste that might
decorate the floor of your room,


naked walls enclose this empty space,
but confused excited atoms dance about ,
screaming at each other in a tongue
that I’ve never known nor care to.


cotton sheets, a sweet odor of skin,
***, oranges & things i can’t get across
cause the line is blocked, overloaded.
i want to; bring down the roof upon us

scratch, pick away, take parts from
the whole thing until it gives way
& submits to the overbearing weight
of unseen structural weaknesses


before being buried alive in this mess,
i’ll evacuate & leave behind this expanse
i’ve been squatting in since i first laid
my eyes upon your deceivingly lazy face.  


(i’m not in the business of maintenance)

a couple of days ago we visited a land inhabited by deceivingly accurate portrayals of life. we grew so entranced by everything we saw. we spotted a very strange looking crustacean flanked by a really thin looking squid positioned upright. she quipped about how it looked just like a pen, and when we went to the store we made it our life's only mission to find it and buy a replica so that every time we confessed to our journals we'd remember the day. but it wasn't there. i think about it now and i laugh because what kind of a mentality is that? to just be so sure that something will be there, will work out in our favors, will come back despite all odds. i can't afford to think with such ironclad naivety. people are not infallible. funny as it is, i can't expect to find a squid pen, and no amount of determination can make tangible something that doesn't exist.

but the whale, above our heads, floated as lifeless and seemingly ordinary as a chandelier. a half idyllic half menacing scene at the bottom of the ocean. we laid underneath it and felt so small. our worries and problems themselves seemed even more infinitesimal. i pretended i was submerged underwater, letting all of my troubles disappear and become one with nature, and she was the only person who could listen to my thoughts.

There is a boy
His skin is a warm dawn on the eastern mountains
His smile is the flick of a match in isolated darkness
He does not hold to the world, only the people of it
He cares for those with heavy hearts
But deep love is not one among his many skills
He never really fell, only tripping others to fall into him
I do not know how to leave him alone
So for now, I will wait here, collecting dust,
if only it means I will touch some of his particles that fall on the floor

Deceivingly sweet, but I'm toxic
The poison will paralyze you
I'll spin my intricate web around your heart
Then **** your life & soul til you're blue.
The poison is subtle & works slowly
My web is soft & warm
You'll feel cozy & safe & complete
But my intentions are to harm.
If you think that you're immune
Stay
If you think you can escape my web & get
Away
I dare you
But be fairly warned
Either way
I'm going to hurt you.

Mother spinster’s sporcy spindle spaed a specious spider splenetically spinning a sparkling specimen of the spired and spherically eggish; still though spinose although sporadic, seemingly soft, deceivingly so, sacred, secret special place to stave off such besetments!

  Her enchantment’s curse, no less the worse, arachnid terse in webs of verse, or plainly verse we shall rehearse from high above to stage below or thought to hanging from strangely gallows, the sickly web a trap thus cloven of heaven’s weaver said to woven in all her life never betrothen, she cast aside all such resentments!

And so Old Mother Hubbard then went to the cupboard speaking her cursed ways…

  Along came Ariadne, the spider beside thee, winding her spinning, pointing thus pinning upon her the blame for all days. With no voice to speak, evading flood did she seek, a way up from the sea on the laurels of Mother’s uprooted tree. So was it ended, uprooted, upended, the guilt, blame and controversy. Umun-Hubbur, Humwawa, Humbaba, star-weaver and Hubbard and Ariadne!

Fleeting thoughts swirl up like vapour
escaping this thick bone chamber
flickering with irrationality through
the endless prism of false labour.

For life’s lust is lost in a paranoid wreckage:
mystery paradigm proclaim yourself more
than enigmatic refuse, ruminating unreasonably
in this hotshot ******* driven battle against

the weak, the slow, the poor and trapped
the meek who run computer cracks
just to stay connected to the planet
which span them out of tune.

We are a danger unto ourselves, for a foggy
lane in summer sits a head firmly back
on shoulders, slovenly my ego
shrinks beneath quivering boulders.

Sparks fly from my torso, out of my solar plexus
as I spur a perennial twitch of trepidation
to reignite my lust; to help those who seldom
see the sun, or laughter running off the tongue.

My drift wood frame spurns, deceivingly incognito;
my cognition conjures disdain for all false frivolity:
The chasm behind the mind of those who relish
finite goods and cherish only their immediate

surroundings, the sinkhole of inadequate lobbying
peers who snort and cackle away the thought
of true democracy. This disdain we grow pushes
brickwork barriers to breaking point, where stones

and dust yield to gravitational collapse
Only a fool clutches the words of the wise
and writes them in the mind, yet only a fool
would paraphrase words which altered lives.

So ever the jester I must warn the top-bracket
bureaucrats that the harder you push down
liberty the more she grows out to the side
the 'greed of man will pass and tyrannies die'

For now 'We are buried beneath the weight
of information, which is being confused
with knowledge; quantity confused
with abundance and wealth with happiness.  

'We are monkeys with money and guns.’
running a mock of our planet and crowning
ourselves above all odds as a likely contender
to colonise further than our means. Though...

‘the good earth is rich and can provide for all
Our knowledge has made us cynical.
Our cleverness hard and unkind.
We think too much and feel too little'

Yet have mastered the sea and the sky
as nebulas appear through concave lenses
far and wide, the thieves who stop progression
have much to answer for, dwarfing mankind’s

potential and making extinction inevitable as ice
ages come and clean the planet even giants
die out, but those who can work to a common goal,
I promise, we’ll leave these fools behind.

left
hand
on face
too long
red blotches
embarrassing
nobody notices
smiles smiles smiles
hiding things deceivingly secret
broken promises deserve mending
imaginary money needs spending
versus all things left unsaid
further covering tracks
simple heart attacks
preach fake truth
break me real
bring it back
make it sting
pretty please
thanks

Beautiful brown eyes
The kind you fall into
The ones you get lost in
And realize you never want to escape from

Those dark lashes
Pulling you in
Luring closer to the eyes
Until nothing else exists

Eyes crowned by
Jet brows
Exquisite curve here
Complimentary arch there

Light, but deceivingly dark
Your skin's warm glow
Freckles
Abound.

Down an elegant nose
Dividing perfect from perfection

And here is that smile
That brightens my day
Effortlessly
Two beautiful rows
Beaming white sunshine
Back into my world

Inbetween
A subtle pink dart
That playful tongue

Silk
Soft
Lips
Slicked in Blistex

All framed
In ***** blond hair
I love it tousled.

Preferred  are those conversations accompanied by cigarettes and splifs and misfits sitting where they knew they always should.

There comes a time when cleared minds realize conversations of personal problems and unified disfunction's exposed feels right. As though your ideas of crazy themes and wandering dreams are unified.

Listening to the good die young by billy Joel blasts as slow motions and hand gestures toss stories and emotions like cracking the binding of a books once judged by unpredictable covers.

I connect with people who's skin has sunken ink that tell stories people think need to stay forever by vibrating needles. Piercings on questionable parts like on noses that drip from other kinds of recreationals. that give bad impressions to those cliche stereotyped people. But if we're all the same species then how do you begin to distribute labels?

I believe there are certain people that smoke cigarettes. That need a release knowing risk that with each pack your buying death. But living larger then safe is easily the option that's best.

To fly free through roads just watching others live lives and in  split seconds build their story lines. Like that feeling of peoples first expressions when first meetings happen and the only conversations are those of eyes that frigidly glance back. When you realize everyone is there for same reason. But curiosity is the catalyst for judgement and we have all done that.

I believe there are layers to the soul. Not like designated  pieces and parts but one giant relation that we all hold. It's that common beating of trapped souls kept in that bone cage our chest mold. Each chest holds humanities most sacred vessel so how come so many people turn out damaged and evil when born starting with the same soul?

I'd like that think that our common bind is that we have the ability to breathe. And even when things get crazy and life gets messy and that ability to breathe starts to feel more like your starting to choke at least it's sign your still apart of this earth as a whole and not already six feet deep...

There's something beautiful in the fact your mind makes you who you are.. Or do you make up your mind? Are we all strung up like puppets being pulled on premeditated strings? Or are we morally free willed  where fate is created based off every individuals caged vessels desires and whatever subjective shoulders conscious ends up deciding.

It's funny to me that people have angelic and demonic whispers on opposite shoulders because I believe that they are one in the same. That in reality our conscious is one unified subjective subconscious who has free will to take a ride with the devil but if they chose to live a live of angelic routine the heart gets hurt and your heads to blame.

Because the heart wants what it does but the mind always knows what's best. But what if together they worked the same and the explanation for decisions being made, are based purely on happiness with consequential benefits determined by what's locked inside that bone cage.

When does choosing between what's right and what's easy ever stop giving beatings to the beating vessel a rest.

Because I have never seen them coincide for most instances there's always that contradicting choice. The one you know you've already chosen but if you want everyone to win you will have to personally sacrifice happinesses of the real meanings of life.

The ones that hurt the most but are so addictive they are mentally deadly to any head that's got a heart full of selfish wishes that claw to fulfilled within me.  

Regret is a funny concept because it can always be avoided, that intuition is real and if any instance of doubt or denial is present during, before, or after these ordeals,
you know your accepting the warm rush of blood make it's way home and suddenly your head turns numb and cold. And the only thing to do is uncage that spirit and let it go.

And these constant battles of war and peace have never in history coincided it seems. But what makes you the winner or the losing team? In reality it all doesn't matter in seems, because things happen and If you chose regret and if that's true happiness should anyone put there's souls intentions to rest?

Because hurting are those who believe they would  rather  let everyone else win because being themselves would ultimately hurt others.. And its conclusions like these, they say, you just cannot win. But I grew up when I realized life was really about how your pawn is played. And let's be honest,  Humans have always been the most dangerous game. And ultimately everyone wants to win in a way, but their victory prevents others from reaching their souls restless place.

So this circle of life is that of our species chosen shape. Which makes a lot of sense in minds bigger state.

And I guess that's cool because anyone could say, that we do live condensed on a circle floating in an infinite space, where its never ending and confusingly contradicting , kind of common to that comparison about humanity's constant levitation around mixed messages that mind and heart keep sending.

But in the end were all just spinning. Rotating on sanities axis and gravitationally pulled one way, because that's the way the stars aligned. And that seems quite similar to humanities battle of premeditated fate. So free wills just another excuse for regret shunned away?

But after your feet get planted back in the ground and your mind doesn't feel like it's spinning, that's when you know your true conscious is winning. And even if I there's regret as minds price to pay, let your heart benefit from not caring what decisions it's made.

And for once don't settle by locking it back away in its cage.

See ribs have have rows of entrapment like cell doors and windows but don't they say if god doesn't open up the door he will a window? I think your heart needs to only be able to see through what it can handle. And your mind only cages that soul of questioned decisions away, because it's the one that hurts in longevity and gets damaged with mental repercussions in your head that will always stay. And hearts vessels only know what they've seen through the cage. It will be bruised but like clockwork healing starts and familiar tempting feelings once again become craved.

And anxiety of memories are sent to the brain when the heart wants to start over and relies on its mind to be brave. And sometimes that deceivingly beautifully ****** devil, on your shoulder distributes desired deadly sins your mind is banned from letting it's sweet heart discover.

Which is when it knows it's time to come back down from that beautiful risky heart thumping heaven and evaluate  the damage you have done. And so now I see why hearts and minds don't get along. They desire each others abilities of their methods to stay strong...

glissade, tours jeté; poised and powerful
pirouette, sous-sus; humbling finesse
agility: deceivingly immortal
classsic elegance to encompass

enveloped audience, alluring physique
grande jeté, fluid grace, moving mystique
clean sauté arabasque; lissome wonder
sharp, precise, polished; she moves without blunder

sometimes
I have a million things to say
but
I just can't put them into words
they're thoughts that
float in my mind
distractingly
deceivingly
throwing my mental state into
a mayhem

The road to success is often covered with stones
so jagged and slicing all of my toes
and their bones
And the answers being sought after are always being blown along the wind
Faster than I could ever hope to run, I'd never catch my breath again

I keep counting stars and counting scars, but I forget before I ever finish counting
I've been lost so long, with an atlas in my pocket
But it's crumpled up and the letters are merely smudges
The lines on the road have disappeared
They were ashamed of all the attention they received as I counted each one carefully
So as not to miss even one

I keep wishing on comets and hoping for better days
But when I create them for myself, it's only a phase
And when my eyes open and realize it's just like when I was five
And I wished upon a shooting star to love being alive
My siblings told me I could wish for anything, and that is what I chose

When I reach my destination, I just hope there's a spot with a good view
So at night I can see the crooked moon
As it hangs in the sky deceivingly
Just like most of the other smiles I've ever seen

feel the
warm, drowsy
fingertips,
lackadaisically running trails
down your every corner
as their eyes
attempt to catch up
to the tired,
deceivingly excited hands
exploring every inch of you
trying to discover
what's hidden inside you,
the magic of the being
you pack away behind
predictable masks
and colorful spectacles
in an attempt
to distract
or take away from
what you worry
may not be enough,
may not be what
they wanted;
so you shove
forced color schemes
to safeguard yourself
from anyone considering,
let alone caring
to unravel
the contents
of the windowless box
you call a body;
so you sit still,
dormant
as the people around you
allow themselves
to be found,
though none of them felt lost,
and as you resign yourself,
resting in
the bittersweet feeling
of knowing that
nobody had the opportunity
to run their fingers
down your outside,
and slowly,
methodically,
realize what hides
under all of those
eye-catching aesthetics,
yet secretly wishing
that somebody would pick you up,
out from behind the crowd,
unprovoked,
to try and see
what lies within you;
and dear,
something that may
bring upon
a smile,
is that I do
want to have you
open up
just for me;
because, even if
I have nothing else
under the tree
just know
that your presence
is the only gift
that I need

I worry that the light
at the end of this
deceivingly long tunnel
may turn out to be
nothing but a little girl
with a lighter
whispering "sorry"

Deceivingly simple, we sit down
On our ****** plastic step stools
After school in the kitchen.
You ask me how my day was. I say
Fine thanks, learned about quadratics.
I ask you where you went cycling. You say
Oh, you know, the usual. Round out
That way, and back. The usual.
We sit in silence for amount as I cut a slice of apple and hold it out to you across the room.
You take it, and we sit on our ****** plastic step stools
In the kitchen after school,
Sharing silence and an apple.
And I almost love the crisp, cool crunch
As much as I love you.

Can there be intimacy without proximity?
Empathy without vicinity ?

Can we live without touch,
keeping brothers out peripherally?

No, that path only leads deceivingly
further into living life more miserably

So rather than espousing self-sufficiency
let's discuss band of brotherly

A brother unity that unconditionally
maintains a mature masculinity

A unity revealing a core fragility,
yes - a humility that risks indignity

I'm talking about an increasing capacity
a growling capability
for actual manual connectivity

I'm calling for a comprehensive solidarity
that embraces fierce timidity

You see I stand against living artificially
I'm all for living purposely

Yes, I'm here loudly
Campaigning
Against anyone
Living
Miserably

Where natives end
the time as specific as the place
rapidly multiplied by buying
buying things
buying earth
material legions from the mouth of the beast
the beast which stood deceivingly tall
shoulders slumped in a fit of insolence
monikered by an owl above all
cyclical rounds penetrated deep
feet met with cold, hard ground
you will never win

the first time you broke my heart felt like every molecule in my body had been shaken like a carbonated drink inside a plastic bottle, containing the catastrophe and sheltering the insanity as if it were a home. i could not let anyone know how close i was to exploding, i could not be weak.
i walked around daily, replaying memories we had against the backs of my eyelids like a projector against a cement wall
i played it over and over until my stomach overflowed with churning bile, wanting to eject the inauthenticity of nostalgia
while watching i would try to make meaning of the dialogue, and you, being it’s main featured character
i made you out to be the hero but you were the villain, you destroyed the plot, you slaughtered the character’s lives, yet you were such a deceivingly good actor
have you ever heard something so many times that you started to go insane?
words can hit you so hard they start to feel like they’ve been carved into your brain, able to be sounded like keys on an everlasting piano, one note insisting for another to play along with it
but you’re not a song that i want to listen to anymore

the second time you broke my heart, i had it coming
i told myself this was it
every time i watched you blink i watched the doors to your soul close
have you ever let anyone in?
every kiss enabled another voice in my head telling me goodbye
but the best part about me letting you into my heart for a second time was that it didn’t really break
what i thought was my chest ripping open, withdrawing blood vessels and vitals, was really the nerves in my body connecting again, i can feel again
i can feel again
i am healing and here months later,
stitched up and intact
you can’t hurt me anymore

There are millions of deceivingly large flames in the sky that we call stars
Floating above this weathered orb we call the Earth
And surrounded by a blanket of blackness we call space

And mixed throughout the many stars
Floats a cheesy rock with an eerily smiling face
that we call the moon
Whose best friend is the largest flame of all
that we call the sun

And from that sun shines a light
and with that light comes growth
and warmth
And in that warmth hides a girl
who is sad and lonely and angry and
we call that girl
Arlo

Deceivingly aquamarine sky
Oversees the madness of summers
Whose days are closing in
But this time your astral projection
Conquers the atmosphere
And my lungs join the prayer of ribs
Asking for
"Please turn this grasp into a caress
Soothing the burns
That I may have the chance
To become remedy"