A Bouquet of Razor Wire – Sixes

November 5, 2020

“Something Beautiful Happened Last Night

carnivorous cotton candy vibes from pastel pink phantasms
haunt the corners of my vision, Icarus is in the details
what are you staring at, there’s nothing there
always bring a friend and always leave without one
who’s fault is it anyway? i make a good default
can’t stop watching my six with my third eye, calcification on the cornea
bloodshotgun shells through pristine perverted palate
much gray matter splatters but it doesn’t much matter does it?
battered braces torn from teenage faces, i’m so sorry sweetie
crimson runs rampant rivers through abused nostrils
Mr. CEO meets Ms. Kill Myself in religious-union-busting my fucking skull open
just shut the fuck up and let me hang from expropriated 24 karat gold chain
for a twitch stream audience in the moment and for liveleak forever after”

 

“On Autosadism

tumultuous trembling doesn’t stop as water wells within warm body
finally satisfied suicide bomber wearing vest stitched together by granny’s old hands
perilously perched atop doomed dam behind exhausted eyelids, they squeeze their detonator
pretty pastel pink viscera meets roaring restless riverbed as brand new cracks
let caustic tears carve red ravines down pale porcelain chubby cheeks
slice seductive scanlines across succulent sinflesh with unholy blades meant to protect
those better than perverted pathetic poet with poor self-control (they never learn)
writhing writings whimpered out in hyperaware hallucinated haze from cobalt/ivory pills
burning herb a medusa in its own right as it turns tumultuous thoughts to stone, temporary peace
ghastly glowing keys make for prying personal panopticon, perpetuated by basket case
causing constant psychic damage with each white hot letter on cracked phone screen
“you know you don’t have to tell them right?” but there was never a choice, was there?
adoring cacophony always snuffed out by whispering dissenter, the latter’s what matters
kilos of praise overwhelmed by milligrams of cynical critique, snort them both up ’til nose bleeds
recovering clout addict with many too many haters, shouldn’t have been so bold before
precious precocious perfections on display behind shattered digital art museum glass
freshly open wounds to be picked through on extraterrestrial examination table
rip and tear all the bits of irony out and let them be painfully sincere, sheer agony for all involved
but they can’t stop anymore, the reusable cloth mask has slipped and some semblance of
innocence is showing, such a pretty face for combat boots to callously cave in once more
damn babe, you’re so fucking broken for your age. there’s no fixing you, even if you wanted it.”