Shimmering silence adored by those who detest the masses. I appreciate the depth and multitude of your disguise. I wore headphones then, to listen, poised. (I hear you hear me too)
The seeping echo sounded brilliant against your moon. I prayed for solace I did not need, and was granted the chaos of catastrophe. I prayed for the open legs of the many who closed them. I prayed against your warm thighs and gave in to your long sighs of promises you'd be forced to keep.
I did not feel a thing. There was no song left to sing. I remember Autumn’s depth and the emptiness of Spring. Summer’s near and we’ve barely said a thing.
The voices carry sweetly and I gnaw on the bone of meat I’ve previously denied myself (corpse void of all skin and fury)
The stones do turn and twist and curdle. I’ve let the mice play and make nests in my hair. It only itches on occasion, and it’s precariously amusing upon incident of such itching.
I heard that foul stench released from your tumorous belly, bellow out under guise of lame ears. I felt the moth sting in it’s flight toward the misty hollow of the night. Illuminate, dear Luna, Illuminate, your right.
I’ve swung these pendulums around the flame and beaten a new course of obstacles. Circles and left and right again. The ocean’s calling and she’s poisoned again. This time from both ends. Many flee to her shores, lapping up her toxic turmoil, imbibing cautious currents unaware.
I have yet to dip a toe.
