(no subject)
these threads are breaking open the corners of my mouth, red strings reeled inside by some collection of spools and trundles, some loom of tense threads, each word rolling off your tongue, interlocking fibers fastened as the shuttle makes them too much a part, plys and warps and there are too many needles, too many pins holding me in place, without this everything comes unstrung.
and swallowed with these filaments, this raw silk, are the worms, the shrill larva drowned inside their arsenic constellations, and their acrid why's go down and down to the very bottom of things. you aren't here, you don't belong to me, but i can't stop spinning worlds together, each whorled fingerprint cut to lace by the sleepy spindles, trying to slow things down, to grow a second skin.
and swallowed with these filaments, this raw silk, are the worms, the shrill larva drowned inside their arsenic constellations, and their acrid why's go down and down to the very bottom of things. you aren't here, you don't belong to me, but i can't stop spinning worlds together, each whorled fingerprint cut to lace by the sleepy spindles, trying to slow things down, to grow a second skin.