Woulden

Pleasure, tickle

Perfect picture.

Frame me

Maim me

Brown light fixture.

 

Wander, warble

Rinse and gargle

Clean me

Wean me

Such a sour girl

 

Chopstick, charcoal

Oaken sparkle

Burn me churn me

In the stark hole.

 

Pâté, pasted

Cardboard, chastened.

Mask me

Ask me

Who I am.

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Smelter

Right now.

It’s one of the times when I,

To the best of my ability,

Cannot force even a fake smile to my pale lips.

 

My unvaried face sits stagnant upon my neck,

Unwilling to change expression,

Gently sliding into another gaunt pool of nothing on the sidewalk.

 

To imagine,

A month pass by not one thought untainted…

Every beautiful thought has jagged teeth

And an imperil growl.

 

The lifestyle has been sustained for many more months than this.

 

And you may not know that it’s too late to pull out.

I am now like the intoxicated junkie;

The fertilized woman…

 

So fill me with your antitoxins;

Abort the evil imp in my womb.

Just one glimpse of a memory

Can place me in my grave.

Spelunking

I excavate my hollow veins

Looking for a sign of life.

The only thing that I can find

Are tunnels leading left and right.

 

I’m heaving as I climb along.

I’m passing through the heart of it.

Twist the valve and watch it pour.

Living is an awful chore.