cigarette smoke.

MERCURY-INFESTED madness

there's ash in my hair hand smoke on my tongue. you've got gold of all the fools in your life slashed on your face, round the murky depth of your pupils. sometimes you shatter your mask and i wonder if you'd want to be more than acquainted. in all honesty (which isn't much, honestly) i wanna rip you open. show you devildom at its finest, lick the sugar-sweet lies you spill like sand from your mouth and swallow you whole. scouring your honeysuckle carcus for whatever monster lives within it, the predator under your skin has too many teeth and i love they way they feel over my skin; you open the sutured wounds i've got stitched together with painkillers that don't work and sheer fuckin' will. babe (pretty bird), when my disaster brings you down don't say i didn't warn you, in the very least.

now, don't go doing me no favours; you'll never get nothing back. i'm as greedy as the fire that consumes my skin, my mouth, my teeth and skin and the sanity i had stored for a raiiiiny day. you have to know what that's like, right, babe? oh? is the little birdy g-round-ed, stuck with the rest of us on this― miserable little planet made from broken glass and children whose dreams turn to stardust so bitter people like me can laugh at their misfortune. like i haven't been burning myself from the inside out for so long i think it started when i came out the womb. darling, for all i'm worth, you double that amount in gold weight and when i find that stash i'll melt it to lead and something black & ashen. my skin, as an example.

we're veering off track on a roadless journey, like the one you're on (puppet boy). you think you can save just about everyone, don't you? do you think you can―what? salvage the ruminants of what could've been a half-decent person? think you could have gilded me in blue fire and white-blonde hair like some warped angel? i don't want to die a martyr, i just wanna kill my old man before my own body collapses on itself. it's a cataclysm, not an effect ―the first domino if you will.

though the real catalyst would've been my dear ol' dad's thirst for the gold metal in a one-sided rivalry he never got to win.

as you'd say, it's not trauma it's nightmare nostalgia. or something like that. god we were so dumb, i can't believe i miss you this much you pea-brained featherhead.

sour skin over my teeth―babe you taste like lemon soda and grief. you smell like narcotics and ethylene glycol; spill your hear & soul out for people who've never cared a drop (drip drop, tick tooooock―) about you.

there's spider silk in your blood and eagle eyes in your pretty little sockets. upside down and inside out―

well.

i'm blue like the next big starfall and you're golden like shiny metal or copper coins in the sunlight (sunspoted, pretty bird).

i mean, if you wanna dance with me in hell, you're welcome to join me and my old man (because he's going down with me in a child's vein attempt for redemption and familial happiness). fatigue fractures, breaking down to the ground. headfirst into the chaos i was borne from, born for. lion skin under my smoke-blinded eyes―babe i'm my own planet, my own constellation. maybe i'm not some bright star, but  poison in the air (bides on my  tongue  .)

you thought i was joking when i said i'd tear your apart and feed on the insides, wrap my bones under your skin like i fit there. you thought i was joking when the fire ate away until skin molted purple. purple like hyacinths and violets. purple like royalwear and sunsets or sunrises (i don't really know anymore). purple like freshly painted bruises across young skin. you thought i was joking when i said my life was a tragedy―

but babe, i'm satire sadness & mercury-infested madness.