i weave my tapestry mimicking the vivacious patterns of your brain as you sit sipping your tea in your favourite fine china cup a rendition of someones requiem plays but i dont bother to know whose just like i dont bother to know your name im curious as to what will become of me you sit in front of me with an open head a meticulously cracked skull a full view of your open brain a swarm of bees running around the peach sap flowing in between every interstice of your rusticated brain and it seems to be covered with fungi
your fungi peached brain is who you are is what you are but im concerned but your dismissal is almost certainly contributing to your knack for denial, denial of your tainted conscience unlike that of your mothers
im watching the sap bleed out your brain, flow past your eyes and settle on your cheeks i watch your mouth, agape,
what is it youve been drinking your tongue is turning purple or is it black
i squeezed the tar out your brain last night, im savouring your predisposition to destruction, immortalising it on my tongue if not my blood
i watch you stick a needle in your popped vein like sticking a needle in a centipede, my hands weaving the tapestry on their own accord
youre so young too young for erosive skin so young too young for battery bones so young too young to have clogged centipedes instead of frail capillaries and molds of veins
youre dissecting yourself along the chest space where your heart rests
i want you to see what ive grown i planted the seed of righteousness like the old shepherds ive quenched my hearts thirst ive reared an animal within like an old shepherds cane it's a slave of the open gate like im a slave of your consensus yes yes i feed off your left overs i walk in your foot prints i drool on your pillow covers see what ive grown ive grown it for you
you light the roman candles that cast our shadows like spiders on my walls of turpentine and i watch these spiders crawl down to the floor they creep up my legs theyre up my arms the spiders are in my head theyre in your head cover your brain the spiders crawled up in your brain youre dissecting yourself along the chest space of where your heart rests and you present your early christmas gift to me
shh don't touch it with your bare hands you'll burn
you wrap it up in my fathers ugly grotesque embroidered silk 'kerchief right after you've sewn your skull back on and you take my seat completing the tapestry that mimicks the vivacious patterns of my brain
