a whirl of exploding stars
fears her dissolution into vapidity:
all her planets will drop off,
      drearily
  deciding
infinite nothingness over boredom.

dense lenses, telescopic eyes
pass over Cimmerian smears of sky.
distance misses her outreaching gravity:
      dismissively
  desultory,
unaware that darkness is not empty.

woe is you,
twisted legs that taste like high school,
swallowing sticks of ink
til it seeps out your fingernails.
chicken scratch beads of blood
speak words on your rails of thighs.
woe is you, woe is you,
thunder is your presence
but gentle mewing is your soul.
let’s throw a big ******* after party
for your big ******* three-ring affair.
my fake little darling, your eyes:
shrink-wrapped in disguise,
pre-meditated, post-medicated,
meandering rings of trees
whisper ugly stories of your intentions.
my translucent lovely, your heart
sputters steam from mechanical parts.
it chugs right along, still
you question the last time it felt pure.
woe is you, woe is you

I see you still ******* on cancer,
it’s nothing new—
but I’m struck by your empty eyes
and his bear-trap arms
holding you inside yourself.
It’s been a few years,
but what is time, anyway?
when you’ve been frozen solid,
little compartments of smiles and
memories that were real, or felt real.

But, who am I to reproach you?
my empty peace is the same things:
body heat to be cradled by;
a socially-acceptable habit
to balance the lingering drain of tar,
softened brain, hardened heart.
It’s so nice to see you well,
but the sting of unanswered questions
sticks around, chipping away
my chest, that place you used to call home.

you are words on a screen and i crumble
beneath your nimble shreds of time,
the weight of memories.
your zorro ****** energies
that bubbled up inside me and i laughed
…blood rolls down my back and i tell you it tickles.

i lost a part of me in you
******* and eight months
twisted and locked in a Penrose triangle cage.
hearts that are shiny, unspeakable illusions,
minds running on cancerous steam:
we were mere fantasies but i left mine in the garden.

i am not empty, but closed
shrouds to misguide the weary,
holding believers hostage til hope gives way.
you were the only mirage i ever wept for,
witnessing the most vast furrows of my darkness,
i was rendered detached in the valley of your thighs.

Sick dreadlock disease
I am not much different
warmed by your baggage

The most elusive
you can’t love me with no heart
but the seeds still sprout

Up against the wall
charred and naked, you remain
hung like awkward Christ.

Met you at Metro
you told me you could love me
nerdy hipster ***

Blackened ***** thoughts
I ******* killed Nikki Sixx
just to lick your boots

Harangued by drunkards
don’t want a “**** up my ***”
but thank you kindly

Sit on ***** and spin
lustful carousel, how cute
rinse off daddy’s frown

Sanctified by scorpions,
the secret touch of midnight water
sneaking black upon the shore.
Deep-sea chests full of hearts,
some broken, some missing.

The most indefinable *****, pushed
out of my head and out of my body.
shattering the surface of glassy mirrors,
mirages of masochistic light bending at will.
Take me, still I always surrender.
Spit out a little more solid than before,
more than just flesh drifted onto sands.
The mystery of subtle transformation
beneath your hands.