those
groggy
matches those feral windows
such
gateway such sickness.
I
refrain terror, while dying pressure, relocked redeemed by dungeon interior;
this inking treachery to love by faces as unlocked or unfree; such system by
deaths to realize mother couldn’t die; our bible-tribal our careful disgrace
while life has masked perfection; such purposed distance
to
have adored in seconds
while
Suzie searches her dead kitten; so buried in mud so glossy afire while many
have petted fractions; by cautious entry, so arranged
by
demons, we love them dearly; at contradiction, to evaluate monsters, so close
such tears—we aren’t aware.
pure
seamstress, rethreading chaos, while I care but days hurt.
I un-lure a feeling in
such danger as arriving at distresses. I was callous, hell was tragic—I didn’t
need those fears.
I needed opera, this pain
in goodness, where one desires to adore but one; those bedlights filled with
whispers as two by deadly fire; to bathe pain or to ask for daughter if but to
explain—this world is dogma; that strong slant, for I must admit, some find
existence by miracle.
such inmost patience such
grandfather clocks to look at mahogany and damn near cry.
I
was serious those nights or flowing without construct where death was peeking;
our emoted fairytale or those climactic rages to desire as if to possess; but
never singularity as ever plurality while asking a man for veins; it dies in me
while sensing Angelica or deceiving self-portraits.
so vibrant so electric
and I never met you; so cursed so blessed and life was chasing you; those
barriers those boxes or those dungeons; as breaking several in order to unbury
another while Love sat at flaming ember; our guts frightening us, our mystic
raft threshing us, to need mystery in accordance to our standards.
I
was dead those years.
I
still conflict. at something terrible.
I
admit to fractions or friction or fairytale; if to unveil deeds, if to tell the
damning story, if but honesty with father.
