flightfallen before the dreamlike some deep well in the abyssscraping rainbow sludge from the bonesstaggering from the graveyardlilting to one directiontransfixed upon your hypnosisrising from these ashesruptured flesh dances to the outskirtsthis wingspan inflatesbeatingbeatenheartbeatflutterI am the angel of deathno mercy for you.
unicycleThe jester wheels abouton his lovely unicycletelling jokes putting on a happy face.He wants to cheer your ills.Tragedy; there is rust in the gears,the turn of the wheel gratesin your earsthe banter scrapes your mindlike an iron nail scratching across a slate.The jester was out in the rain,but he's still trying.Anything to make you smile,forget about your troubles for a while.As he lies prone upon the parquet, covered in the drapery of a net of tomato rot,no one sees beneath the pulp.The injury is far worsethan a twisted leg that will not be meetinga decorated pedal for some span.Somewhere betwee
Soul MateRushing in with masks at the ready,different versions of ourselves,reality leaking out at the seamsSomehow in the sea of plastic facesyou found me and I saw youthis burning desire to tear apart the guiseto be next to you and with you and know youI just found my soul mate.Somewhere we overlapped too much, the realness threatened to splinter this finely crafted wrap.And now my soul mate has vanished.In truth it had to be that way,somewhere in the bustle of the world, you are out there,but we no longer know each other.I cover my face once again with harlequin skin;you roar in the other direction, mascot once more.
whyDearest,Day to day as we move through our lives, encountering strangers, and business people, shopkeepers, men and women in bars, the person next to you at the parade. Shuffling on, these people see you, they hear you, they smell you, they're allowed to touch you. They taste what you taste. But they don't matter. They are immaterial. They mean very little to you, and pass as phantoms. Mere puppets on a revolving stage, gossamer marionettes.They never truly hear you. Their ears may receive the sounds of your vocal chords, but they do not listen. They lay their hands on you and feel nothing but fabric and the flesh of your hands. Their ca