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Half past the unlucky, and there’s a pebble in my shoe.
Rollercoaster stomach. “You’re soft,” said Aural Glory.
Knee jerks, and she became a guillotine.
Decapitated pleasure, staring into another skull.
Coward. If I splice thyself, you should have it all.
Cleaning up remnants, laying on the softest hair.
A moving violation...
...and the body that grows stems walks towards me.
Rose peasant, your house is gone.
You’re living in a black hole.
Tie a rope around the ankle of something you shouldn’t let go,
But symptoms toe the line. My personality is disturbing me.
Flushed cheeks, and here I am, left.
It’s no fun to see the bleeding,
To hear your clarifying clues.
Your face will come to me in a crowd.
Thy dark and earnest eyes.
Patience.

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