He’s sitting in his shadow,
match lit,
iron sight shifting with his arrow.
Da Vinci with a trebuchet,
resentment at a younger age.
Don’t think I’ve ever fucking been the same.
Stay still please, so I don’t have to ever aim.
Heartbeat on my cabernet, gospel on the interlude.
Never into hurting you, but that’s probably hurting you.
Want to hear you love me, but that’s my crawling incertitude.
I’m sorry, you’ve heard it… too… many times.
Loose lips sink ships on the New Delhi line.
Blueberry, thyme, Seattle fog on the Bloomsbury dime.
Anxiety finds a new adversary for you every time.
Kavinsky playing Nightcall,
nightfall addict. Gun-slinging, moonlight absorber.
Eyeball static, upbringing made me too primed for torture.
Leukocyte warlord with a do-or-die sword code.
DNA punching out Morse, ’cause the nuclei’s disordered.
Sobering negative, gripping a metal shank alloy.
Overly sensitive programming on this self-aware android.
Therapists that call me the armchair nutcase.
Trying to turn back to bugged versions of his software update.
I stop to stare into your eyes, perfect oval-shaped opals, like Russian dolls holding more jewels in them like an enigmatic invention.
A hundred soft, hazel static connections, like joules that gather intent, that teach me there aren’t lessons in every traumatic event.
The Dark Crush: A Poem of Contradiction and Obsession
