perfection

the wish

to be

somebody else

to be

almost atoms

different

a mirror keeps our conversation

under polished disquiet,

scarcely a stare is depreciated

mostly cleaved, kept and re-murdered

how many cuts

fill the entire view?

eyesores and all

laze me, a copy in

flawless curve, i am

separated but hurt and worse

how many blemishes

make a person so filled

with rain? so filled with

damage

accepts each visit my

unfriended silver, that

judgemental sliver gapes,

twist like a daffodil’s

neck

discard my layers

to be like you

perfect

nothing

black runged sky dipping its

wet ladders onto the ground

no mouth grows here, no

dream swells its tongue

that numb of nothing as it

squats foul deeds inside the

head, can’t sleep can’t swallow,

its numbing veil, simply lies there pale

watching the ceiling’s graves

open and the cinema of yesterday’s

faces, replay, replay, rewind and

redo its film over again

its night’s utmost nothing a

buRnt out angel gin-stiff wings

lusts for wanting and spoils

its heaven-less heart sick

loneliness is a robber before

the grave has sung with a body,

am stood upon the tusk of a

pin, a wish for falling never dims

in a razor cut sky -

a blood edged sun

appears to die, appears

a sketch of a man in broken charcoal

his mouth too open

spelling out ghosts

of no-one, comes to

eat until i am nothing

plays me dead songs

from a radio’s bad born

hole, dj hanging thru-

out his throat

how empty can empty

be? a starved cot, a

lovelessness, a well,

i am all hollows for you -

to surpass, whilst i

walk a bridge of glass

shards, blissed until

hoary aftermath, jaw-

slack spitting out

ruined butterflies,

polluted with sharp fingers

an endless yearning free falls within

losing thru- you what un-appears

myself, your’s is a light for my soul

to slide in your squadrons of thorns,

your’s is a dark that my soul won’t return

am i nothing but mere

guesses upon disinterest

upon the stain of such

bored lips?

nothing but blind footfalls

tripping vast pools this bed

of blood and rejection,

wishing hurt was left unopened

for the rains to pass on by

their tear loads for someone

other than broken, a picture

frame of no-one, nothing