clip
i remember the look on your face in the first snip on the threshold of my bedroom door, i remember, your fears gathered in the corner across from where you sleep; i have cycled back to the first snip under a new winter sun, how funny, i’ve loved you through many faces, only to clip…
debt
there is a word debt i owe, for having opened prematurely to things unsightly that wore your face; spider webs veil these caverns and Arachne has seized to sing in her frenzy; have you seen darkness dense pressed against your skin?
calluses
there are calluses where softness was, i am not sure why what was owed required a blood price; don’t press even a needle towards me, i cannot take it, reason has left, the lines that defined now look like a madman’s quest for—what is it in the first place?
live
you talk about life over platefuls of death, and never once invite her silence into the lights you so love; what about blue revulses you? yet i cannot take redness whole; too heavy even if my body carries the mantle of it; accents red can i paint over lips, eyes, neck, hands and feet, no…
static
to be contextualized, carved by the wound from static; protruding villi from a mass of flesh; of it and not of it, it and not it, half-births and half-deaths, gravity and space, mirrors bent refract, repeated, repeated, still—
specter
i like the strings strung from the abysmal edge cracked by the hammer of my promised lies; every breath whistles, strikes, vibrates into oblivion; so thinned, even sunlight shimmers like a specter through skin—i wish to play you as you play me,
unreal
if i close my eyes, the world doesn’t exist is it? so long as i don’t see, all remains unreal, no blink of a previous image; you promise me two winters, before silence breaks fast, penance for violation, and i seek no further than my arms; leave me be so, till breath times itself,
more
words that drop like rain, words that run across, words that burst like images; the degrees to a scent; what compels to speak sound, read the lines on my face, the slopes of my shoulders, bent angle of each finger; do you need more?
except
i cannot know less than forever; nothing stills time like loss, finality has eternity written in it and i want that inked between us—is, was, and will be; the ocean is in the stars, the veins unspill, everything unwrites except this, this
true
it’s not possible on this mud for our feet to stay, we only exist in the skies; mud unsweetens what it pulls and i do not know how to reach through skin; the devil plays the long-game, checkmate before the first step—mud, cover me for the colour of my sky to be true,
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MindWraith 