You know I lie (awake in bed), back broken from the fever fled, the gears and spokes, murder. She wrote the meanest things I’d never said. To show their zombie life is dead the ghosts that want me don’t get fed- instead they haunt me, hell again. Next time the sharks feed? Skeleton. You’re nothing but trouble, you’ll be the death of me. I’ll only feel alive if I never wake. The belly of a bubble burns bright against the rubble of the ever feeding fire-breathing fate. I promised myself to never make another promise, I’ve forgotten that I wasn’t supposed to forget. If I’m being honest I’m lying and can’t remember the lingering taste of your regret. Hair tie on my wrist like her eyes in my kiss, dark thoughts are lost, mind wanders abyss. The sway of her hips, the blood in her wrists, zombie life opened eyes- crashed caught in a glimpse. The modern instance of a pardoned parliament. The smoke awoke the latent lazy white night mist. Like, “What the hell did I miss?” when in a spell of her hint. The subtleties of rugged me, sleeping beautiful slip. I can’t explain my arms and chest. Carved out my holes in her regrets. The thing that held me held my head, the only part of me she spared. In her monotony and hair lies her reaction to my tear. Tear us apart from start to the finish, tear us apart from the rest. Tear us apart.
