8-15-17
Gardens of lace,
We pull against the greenery,
Thinking of how you leave
Has me swinging the power lines.
Dreamer's curls,
Run my knives over them,
Let the points
Fillet your spine's barriers.
My eyes lighten
With the sun bleach,
Watch you inhale and
Shake,
The star dust
Like flakes of dead skin
Raining over dark blue
Pillowcases,
That meet my teeth.
Ghosts tell me the colors talk,
Racking demons.
Visionary concepts,
We spent our time,
Recklessly tripping
Like our pain
Set us traps
Of wires and needles.
Dipped into a swimming pool,
Underground,
Felt the jaw of the world,
While I leaked nicotine,
And crawled through the cavities
Or the trees.
The art of decay.
Took the ground up with you
When the high hit you,
And I've been phoning the moon
With poison,
So you're drawn like a moth to a flame,
Somewhere up spinning
In space.
And for when we cross DNA,
I'll wear green,
Burn me up,
Tie me here.
I'll cough up fire instead of blood,
I'll be yours,
I'll fucking sink you.
- (m.m)
YOU ARE READING
Self Deception
PoetryPoetry 2017 And if I burn out in a fit of psychosis, remember me as a young god, with that smile made of daggers, even if I was the most dangerous thing you could've touched. Perhaps all that danger comes from the multiple personalities, but all I...
