Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards Rolling and filling, syncopating the noise of the tinkle toys the gutless boys enraptured in the music the anthem Of invidious phantoms.
My eyes hurt inside and I want to pull them out and scrape out the gunk and rust that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance so I can cry for the first time in years.
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so than hastening my climax and mordant urges to bite what emerges, and my mouth purges the obelisk from underneath the iron-pierced jester the voracious molester.
My hand tightens as I grip his throat tighter and I want to squeeze until his eyes pop from his sockets and laugh until I puke against the walls, watching the bodily fluids mix like an execrable marinara sauce.
I turned thirty while still being sixteen Vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams But none of mine, none that I can recall. Many years have passed since I took the oral fall Where no one saw Intransigent need to live For the snake in my veins hungered for more So many had their way until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife Probing and stretching My insides And devilishly comforting With limpid ambrosia That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing And fruit.
I'm a 90's kid raised on Cult films, transgressive books, contemporary art and world music. I'm also a published writer, semi-professional musician, and current Art student. I attend the Academy of Art University in San Francisco.
Walking through the twilight between reality and myth Stepping in the shadows of cross and monolith Chinese whispers running through religious verse Fairy tales told from baptism to hearse Children kneel, hands clasped with bowed heads Praying for angels to
Ever grown in adolescence, A convoluted leading presence, Thoughts loom large or small, Can this be it, can this be all? Eyes flicker like bulbs burning, Rarely it all fits or so I’m learning, Consumed with madness my kindness finds,
We are broken pieces, Pieces of art, Sometimes joined At the odd cracks, Hoping for completion. Sometimes we are glued To a piece so intricately Carved, so well we gel An illusion to dwell, An illusion to live, Until that