“Somebody Else”

A pair of scissors

resting in my palm.

This is a game

of chance.

Because there’s a moment

where I consider,

painting them red.

But I’d soon run out of paint,

so I don’t.

She was asking for it

though I don’t owe her anything.

How bold she was,

standing there with

my face as hers,

dressed in blue.

If this is what dreams are made of,

I must be made of something else.

“Be Human”

stranger in my own

skin can be ripped off,

and thrown aside.

what do you do with

these scraps of sadness,

pinned to your lover’s lapel

like a ruby red pin.

falling in the pitch

blackness as an old hatbox.

i think i closed the lid

and forgot how to breathe.

does that sound like nothing to you,

as I curl up on a square of white kitchen tile,

already cut through.

“Heartlines”

Red whispers,

clocks tied together with old arteries.

He wasn’t using them anymore.

Tick,

goes the clip,

caught under his silver tongue.

They were familiar with his work.

Tock,

a mother’s love,

tested with bullets and rage.

They never made it.

Tick,

a way to measure loyalty

to the bush outside his window,

and to the olive tree,

with its branches,

stroking the back of her neck.

“There Came a Time”

She considers drowning a lovely thing.

Words and ink,

her preference.

Throwing her lungs over her shoulder,

as she dives into the mess,

but not suicidal.

She is existing, at best.

We all have our hobbies.

She stops,

touching her pearly throat,

nails digging in.

She can’t stay,

the waves piling above her head.

A witch,

with a forked tongue,

pulling her farther along.

Time to make a decision.

“Valuable Therapy”

6:29

I’m dying.

I feel too much.

I’m suffocating,

I’m breathing.

I can’t tell the difference.

All I know is that they both hurt like hell.

6:30

I’m still dying,

just not dead.

I’m dead,

but still alive somehow.

My organs are choking me, my skin is too layered.

I want to rip it off.

6:31

They talk to me.

I listen.

I don’t listen, but I still hear.

Pure madness lives inside my bones,

inside my veins.

Nicotine for the soul,

nightmares for my brain.

6:32

Paint explodes inside my irises.

Screams echo from my fingers.

I’m an experiment,

an immortal,

a human.

[time of death; 6:33]

 

 

“Death to All”

Bones groaning and creaking, the elegant skeletons danced.

They were dressed in a delicate array of snow, with hollow stars winking from their throats.

Wind flowed through their limbs, a song written in a language long forgotten.

The skeletons’ arms stretched towards the dark sky, praying to some unforeseen goddess that lived above them.

So immersed were they,

these skeletons of old,

that they did not hear the screams.

The silent cries of their neighbors as serrated steel penetrated their skin and ripped away at their insides.

Until it was happening to all of them.