There will be a recall. A cancellation of your untimely glorious death.
You will be delivered upon recycled grace. An elegance without haste.
To begin again, you are lurched unto the unfortunate ghastly nurturers.
Uniformed in nauseous green, you plug your ears with the sound of bones breaking.
Disguised in disease, your vomit tastes of forbidden alphabet soup in poetry form.
Playing Chinese jump rope with frayed umbilical cords, faceless children begin to gather.
You are eternally incurable.
Baby's - Breath
I lie here drooling hypercolor spit from my blood thinning smile.
Legendary smoke stains on the burnt popcorn ceiling of my eager eyes.
I cry like the rotten blooms of Baby's Breath woven around my crooked spine.
My mentholated voice spews about unintelligible fevered wishes from within.
This fear-stained glass heart failure shatters like irregular iced sugar remnants.
End stage love affair dances only on the inevitable death bed of hospice.
Will there be an afterworld?
She smells of recalled passion and sickness...
Allergic to lust, she feigns wasted sexuality.
She could never lose…
Her virginity is submerged in a violent quicksand…
Dissolves like caustic poison at the bottom of a cup.
All of her fictitious fascinations in one flawless victory…
Marches to a punch drunk flavor.
Dusty pink shoes dance her to the androgynous… moon, sun, and thunder…
Fire, tears, and rain…
She's a retired star now.