music box.

ix. 07:59
This rosé wine sunrise is first i’ve seen in a while. Thank the jaundiced stars it’s beautiful, i'd really would have cried if it had just been red.

viii. 15:31
24 hours later, vulgar clock hands are still staring at our last goodbye and i’ve been counting rain falling  against anthracite family gatherings. i’m saturated with pearlescent paint flecks and sporadic Christmas illumination, barely feeling between cumulonimbus hormones and thrown away notebook pages.
With teal smeared lids this sky is hardly rose cigarettes; i need,
i need
your formaldehyde eyes.

vii. 12:01
i about destroying myself now. i peel out of my insulation and vandalise my skin. To them, i am just not right, not safe. Really, i’ve never been safe and it’s not fair. for them, i plan to disappear away, expire against the rouge-noir nail sunsets and papier-mâché plane trails.
i need to see that my bones might be not be as ugly as their shell; i need you to see i am more than caesium veins; that i’m not just gangrene shadows for magazine rings.
i need you to see that i can be like unwashed doves;
i could be
beautiful
with


you.

vi. 04:27
Praying to 'God' that i could paint; i'd take nebulas, make myself new; I'd be better, brighter, stronger, more aware.
So i hail mary, that white dress whore. i've never trusted painted deities, but any solace is embraced tonight.
Once brainwashed, now brain-rinsed, i forgot the sacred words the same year Father forgot me. 
Lord, let our skins solder together – there’s nothing i want more than to be a part of him.

v. 01:44
Smothered vociferation in the shower; a reminder i’ve still faith in washing away sadistic days. My styrofoam fingers are clumsily grabbing at lead curves, i need poisoning now. This roar is radio static through life saving lines; it’s photosynthesis of chalk quartz, it’s worse than half learnt tabs and 24volt stars. These recreational metals are painted pathogens, coursing my pulmonary stamen.
i am self medicating,
                    self infecting.

iv. 22:13
Like freshly reincarnated caterpillars, all the familiarity is delicate, soft and newly expiring.
If you could see me now, i am still the pantone skin i was only a afternoon ago, but colour have turned to bile. i am a monster, a pathetic excuse for a mammal. i am ipecac cloud linings, held at the edges by mallow strands, solder wire and embroidery thread.

If you could see me now.

iii. 20:32
i know my skaters. i know their every crease, every smile line, every saline super-glued lid. i can count the seven and a half folds in her dress, the four buttons on his jacket and the way their fingers mimic hurricanes.
The key is elderly, my hands reek of brass.
i want the waltz, i want my opal harlequins to spin, the notes to melt through my fingernails,
i need the only beautiful thing i have left,

i need the waltz.

iiv. 16:03
Without us, i'm reduced to chasing stars down chlorine corridors, but every little step gets me just a fraction closer and makes those shimmers fade just a whole lot faster.
Without light, i molder to mirrored quills and aurified punctuation.

Without you, i metamorphose into genetically modified octaves,
sounds so vile only hydrocarbon comas could emit them.

i. 15:31
Your corroded pewter inks spin out of your fingertips, turning my lips coppery just from breathing. In slowly birthing night, i dreamt of my china dolls, with golden synapses and lacking in veins to embellish. i’m awake and still locked in their vertebrae, feeling more porcelain than their keratin.
‘am I pretty now, am I safe enough?



Will I ever be?’ 




i am left in no-mans land, with scents of quixotic kisses and tangible words.