(no subject)

[darkocraze]

his pupils light up
when the girls stand there
in rhythm,
pink,
postage stamps,
ready to be sent out
in envelopes,
trapped in his torso.
they can never open the seal.

he doesn't think twice
about the girl
on the other side
of the conversation table.
the quiet one
who peers into the unsuspected
exchange of mindless words,
biting her nails-
red flesh
turning redder
and finally leaking.
if only she could
take this strain and
make him leak
the black out of his eyes.
wringing them until his
body's skin is folded
and wrinkled
on the desperate ground.

he thinks of his tongue
as entrenched with interesting thought
so he keeps talking
about the girls
standing there
in rhythm,
pink,
postage stamps
postage stamps-
it's only their hearts.