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The Ideal Conditions For Permanence

The silence is kicking in slowly. And if I stare at the stars long enough Will I feel everyone I hope I've reached Staring back? Is it just for me? Or is it unconditional? There are things you've said Laid out along my chest. If I could I’d drag myself across long nights To make sure you never feel alone Even in the afterlife. But I don't think there is one. Maybe there’s somewhere unique For people that see All the fabrics and all the souls And bring treasures to the crows The way you do. The way you lay it all down and pull it all out of your scars, And place it between us Without ever making distance Made me feel like colours drip from above  Instead of counting the time flowing away from us. Last night's ink is drying up slowly And if I stare at the sad parts only It gets hard enough That if I could I’d rip myself across cold nights To make sure you never feel alone Even in the afterlife. It’s late and I’m scared one of us Might get there early. Will I find everyone...

Vitrification

Shards of skies Drag across The lessons I've learned: A blank slate Desolate and bright. A flash, a fall. Moments survived By a man born to die. Hold them close Like ashes caught in the wind. If I rescind At least we'll learn something one day.

That Grinning Crow

 A heart aches For the flames Literal kick-start Clutch Back and forth Heel on heart Heel on black tar Down girl, down  Drag this thing around Bits of flesh Scrape behind a dumpster darling Grinning, road rash Infects us all To look up at lightning Might be the way to die Sizzling tin cans Charred big turks Old shirts Questionable stains Just like me Down wash me away Grind me further into Glistening asphalt A treat for the crows

This Encore Brought to You by Carcinogens

 Lights out. The band forgot their instruments and Charlie broke the keyboard anyway. Lights up. I'm so sorry for the ripple effects. Go home folks.

Immaculate Stray

I went under. Only for a moment. Everything immaculate. Dark, with shimmers of midnight. Sparks or satellites? No matter, farther away. No concern of mine.

Holding Hands

 Fleeting, yet seething. Safe, yet smothering. A constant wrongness. A daily need to vomit up your own reality.   Living with suicidal needs makes sense when nothing else does. Moment to moment, sometimes second to second. It’s like being pregnant with a feral animal in the form of an omnipresent emotion. But I could put it down. I could let it out and set it free. Watch it grow, then sleep for the first time ever.

Flight Recorder Recovered

 Ocean worn. Salty and corroded at the corners. Edges like battery rot. One side has been outright bitten. Tatters of kelp peel away. A black box warped by blacker depths. There you are. Looking For My Teeth.