Sentences...
Im fracturing and Im wondering and this doesn't equal that.. and you aren't the iota that it should entail and Im.
silence
And she is beautiful, Lucy is beautiful she lies on the floor dressed in scufflery and she bleeds and she cries but in that moment she is beautiful, godlike in theory, retribution in actuality.
These words strive not to make sense, dont read them to make sense..
And yes.
silence
Fall into me, it is all I ever asked of you. Wrap your entire being around the particle that is me, immerse your very soul into what breathes, vapour fogging up mirrors and crystal by candlelight.. fall into me, bite the soft pad of my finger and suck.. lay me down on a bed of saturation and words are leaving me somewhat in this instance..
silence
Be my favourite whore, cast your clothes off in the grim light.
Be that person who aches to run nails deep into flesh imbedding all fragments of you ..
Words are quiet, sitting at my right, to my left and littering themselves all over my desk.. its that deep purple grass shifting under a uterine red sky.. its slotting fingers together and turning hands inside out to form the cathedral.. its the air kissing the back of my neck and my hair flicked into a messy knot ready to fall apart at the slightest movement.. its the pencil just to hold it all in place. . and the ink under my nails from hair dye which is still clinging to some figment of connectivity with tissue or cartilege or whatever nails are called..
silence
And its Lucy.
Dear sweet Lucy with her dishevelled hair, an abstract expression, subtle much like the Mona Lisa.
silence
And she is beautiful, Lucy is beautiful she lies on the floor dressed in scufflery and she bleeds and she cries but in that moment she is beautiful, godlike in theory, retribution in actuality.
These words strive not to make sense, dont read them to make sense..
And yes.
silence
Fall into me, it is all I ever asked of you. Wrap your entire being around the particle that is me, immerse your very soul into what breathes, vapour fogging up mirrors and crystal by candlelight.. fall into me, bite the soft pad of my finger and suck.. lay me down on a bed of saturation and words are leaving me somewhat in this instance..
silence
Be my favourite whore, cast your clothes off in the grim light.
Be that person who aches to run nails deep into flesh imbedding all fragments of you ..
Words are quiet, sitting at my right, to my left and littering themselves all over my desk.. its that deep purple grass shifting under a uterine red sky.. its slotting fingers together and turning hands inside out to form the cathedral.. its the air kissing the back of my neck and my hair flicked into a messy knot ready to fall apart at the slightest movement.. its the pencil just to hold it all in place. . and the ink under my nails from hair dye which is still clinging to some figment of connectivity with tissue or cartilege or whatever nails are called..
silence
And its Lucy.
Dear sweet Lucy with her dishevelled hair, an abstract expression, subtle much like the Mona Lisa.