She whispers In a drunken moan.
She’s slowly falling in love.
Ask her how slowly?
We’re slowly making art when we fuck.
Making sure she comprehends.
A lion covered in cuts.
Licking wounds. Vicissitude. Saliva and blood.
We’re controlled experiments.
And you’re variable A. Variable B, mumbles to self.
Paranoia pirated brain.
Dancing in her solitude, self-awareness immense.
Telling women it’s OK to aim that gun at my head.
What’s wrong with you? She asks.
Where do I start?
The mountain that’s eroding or my castle of rocks?
Where debris of glass houses lay in demise.
I’m praying to God.
Don’t even know if God cares that I die.
Barely a heart. Just a human vessel, imitating a life.
My advice to any friend is don’t end up like me.
What do you mean?
Deflecting momentary practices to forget I’m diseased.
Why do I feel so strongly?
It isn’t normal to me.
Feel my ocean tide get wilder.
Moons orbiting me.
Dormant volcano waiting for a moment to speak. Sometimes; I need… just a moment to breathe.
Declining every phone call is a habit I’ve reached.
Detaching from reality so I can actually breathe.
Do they call it paranoia if I want you to leave?
She whispers; how will I find you in this wintery prose?
I bleed slowly.
Follow the trail in the vermillion snow.