Old souls

throbbing, cystic window panes.of mercurical hallowing cry of throat.a vintage cacophony of soul stichinganother soul, a twig to hold. time floats,a grey crux of skull.floating from me to you.and along with, we float.in the orange burning nights,of salvation and pain.

Autumn returns

Autumn reminds me of things untouched, glass window, stains on the broken leaves, cup and cigars, molasses of thunder I bend and whiff the rosemary bowl of smells, incessant yearning smell of dear darling a voice of hypnotic fluid, lush green in my blood Chewing lemon grass like an ant of wisdom, i pick and…

P. a. i. n/ reality

scissors of tongues missing like threads sewing volcanoes. And my lazy tears twist my body like valleys. I sip pain, i see pain. I hear and live pain(patterns corrosive) With footsteps entwining my jawlines. A narrow gauge of breaths and pool of sadness this moment does that abrupt epilepsy to me, this dark hollow night,…

last verse

Each day is a delusion, my words and poem a levitating hue of cry. The modal of life explained in a Polaroid, i might die writing this last piece, softly,                like autumn i shall moult, into a panorama of white skin hanging loose, pale parchment paper. a breathless…

when humans stink

  My voice is a purgatory lie. a solemn inhuman thread of existence, the voice of this teeth crackling, fingers going numb during cold shaky nights. moist, stinking, moist language of nights. A honeysuckle stung of a tear marking my white body, flowerless, wavelengths of blurred nights again and again you come and sit inside…

Greys and black

Elis has a paper ball texture, crisp and crumpled veins of love. Her nakedness is the march towards the fruits of springs, countless motions of time. Her liquid lips, cryptic to herself. She neatly defies the existence of frailty. The frailty of summer’s hope and frailty of meadows spring. The heaviness of swamp and linguistic…

when i die-

you will find ink blurb, parched words, acoustic in air, a hot burning potpourri and my ink romancing with words. this is what i will leave when i die- a torn cloth, stinking souvenirs, words like thick and sick stick to my tongue, a concave road of anxiety on my wrists. for i had no…

a thousand reasons

between the lampshade of lips and my porcelain lips i carry your honeycombed shadow like a lust covered body, screaming in rose love i have a reason to lick your face, your breaths in ways flickering Beneath the mole of my chin, a night rests it slithers a square black fit like an earthquake, an…