I need to see him, I need to hear her, like
losing sanity; to give existence, to forfeit logistics, saucy sacrificial(s). Upon
a demon, those demonic eyes, so at Love, like a fretted curse. Never closer,
holding hands, hacked unto deaths, awakening and screaming, scorching! So
framed, made wilder, tamed in due time; life is anxious, minds are anxiety,
trying to meet Ghosts—fire of my exile, terror of my alphabet, tragic upon a
lost wilderness; accursed unto vacancies, a defacto, rereading her memoirs. To live
desperation, to cuff a memory, at lies in there; seeing what feels glamorous,
ignoring slums, so close we deplete each other; to feature one, to see it, to
adore the controversy of your hands. God is proud!
Around a corner, nestled in a nest, to find solace. It
matters so little, it means nothing to me, call me deranged, call me a
misnomer, call me aberrant, but why? Indeed, so close to a feeling, so at needs
to be complete, upon a fiat—it gets to ambition. Color on sacrifice, pains like magnets, to
lock eyes and drown. Maybe it matters, maybe it’s untrue, maybe I ignore Jesus
in you.
