rought rough rough
Lava lamps, baby lightning bug ashes, stranger lights, windows concealed, broken heart, lungs full of unspoken (rehashed) promises. There is a subtle glamor to my life. The grunge and grime slicking my movements. Impulsion, the dirt-reality of glitter dreams. My soul thumps with the ongoing vibration from the metallic trains. The stairs shake, the ground beneath me rumbles.
(I couldn't pick between these two next lines:)
Speckles of mineral in concrete, parts of every soul that trudged by.
The concrete shines with speckles because it steals parts of the heart through the feet.
It grabs glimmers and morph their place into permanent obscurity. Buildings are apart of my bones; the structure shielding my organs from spilling chaotically into the polluted gutters. The lost live in the tunnels, with their rags and fixed glares a reminder of my past. My womb is still warm with fertility; from the humidity stirred in the wind. The words in languages unintelligible to my ears fill the air with a rush of life; my miscarriage billowing into their sour conversation. I can find life within the filth; its vital nutrients fulfilling my hunger. My creation swallowed into the grease of fast automobiles turbulent; months of growth blurred by motion.
I will be shining, I will give birth. I will nurture within my home of the artificial. My natural tenacity enduring the robotic demands.
I want to go somewhere with this but I don't know where.
(I couldn't pick between these two next lines:)
Speckles of mineral in concrete, parts of every soul that trudged by.
The concrete shines with speckles because it steals parts of the heart through the feet.
It grabs glimmers and morph their place into permanent obscurity. Buildings are apart of my bones; the structure shielding my organs from spilling chaotically into the polluted gutters. The lost live in the tunnels, with their rags and fixed glares a reminder of my past. My womb is still warm with fertility; from the humidity stirred in the wind. The words in languages unintelligible to my ears fill the air with a rush of life; my miscarriage billowing into their sour conversation. I can find life within the filth; its vital nutrients fulfilling my hunger. My creation swallowed into the grease of fast automobiles turbulent; months of growth blurred by motion.
I will be shining, I will give birth. I will nurture within my home of the artificial. My natural tenacity enduring the robotic demands.
I want to go somewhere with this but I don't know where.