Phase #3 (starless)


She dances to the man in the unmarked grave. Old guitars in Mexico that trap her timid soul. Insects crawling on her thighs as the night bares witness to the scars of darkened pasts. This is here, and we are now. The universe alive in the cuts upon her tiny wrists. Bulimic woes and ghosts in the rear view mirror. Strawberries slipped into her dress as the howls of my father awaken somewhere within. Choking on vomit, and pressing for revenge against all those who’ll never be missed. Every molecule. Every watching eye. In all that resides in our hearts and minds, we are everything and everywhere all at the same time. Sunrises in graveyards. Orchids and temptation as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Fingernails and teeth, tongues licking lips as the helicopter tries to stay within reach as we speed down the freeway. Each cigarette a full stop. Each piece of skin a reason to stay away at all costs. Jupiter in her throat. The moons of elsewhere flowing through her fallopian tubes. Ovaries and eyelashes, twinkling like shattered glass around chalk outlines. Headlights giving way to dazzling transformation involving  miracle sauce. Pandemonium in my sermons. Sickened without the slightest hint of redemption.

Arteries clogged with demons. A devil on your shoulder, a mirror in your head where once a brain did exist. Copy. Retreat. Gaze at the golden ladders and foam with frenzied anticipation at what must be further up. By rope you climb, by knife I cut you down. Sprayed with the scent of heat, the ridges of your sex signal emptiness across the fathomless lands. Starless like a pool of oil. Slippery like a new born baby in the arms of his favourite son. A prism of social niceties. The whole spectrum concerning what it’s like to be alone. Make your decisions, and flee with your sense of self intact. Travel by night, and know that death is ready and willing to suck you down to a place where the bones of victims give their all. Death machines. Telephone booths. Magazines and dollar notes. Sparse with little to no emotion. The sting of a scorpion as she scratches your back and bites your chest. Magical bed a vehicle to the abyss. Moonchild playing in the tall grass at the foot of a secret garden. The wind speaks but never listens. The rain soaks our clothes yet never answers our questions. We stand alone. We dream in the shallows of an endless stream. Sleep forever. Be still as if frozen by ageless reflection. Ageless beauty, a wonder of effortless imagination.

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