No force can stop destiny, no man to keep the tigers at bay. Set yourself on fire, and breathe in the icy waters of your mother’s womb. Black-eyed angel beneath bedsheets so warm against the horrors of the outside world. Her fingers dripping with blood, her wounds speak of the exotic. Cervix canals spreading to shapeless phantoms. Sticks as triangles upon your pillow, and my hands around your ankles. Painted toenails so cute, there’s only faith and the need to destroy purgatory as we do our sacred thing. Cutting images and the scent of obscure ovaries. The window lets in the rain, and somewhere above our heads, a spider waits for my startled appearance. Teeth and lips like butterflies and operating tables. Tubes and needles to suffer the despaired. Lost souls not yet ready for such pain, she comes undone when dreams don’t swallow her whole. Meaning through children, and the absence of their graves. Blood soaked underwear. Flowers and handwritten letters that still linger despite the passing of years. It’s in the oil that pumps through my heart. It’s in the dust filled jars of nowhere that remain unseen like all my other secrets. Lotus flower. Gardens of stepping stones to dead cigarettes and enough bitterness to sink a thousand paper boats. Down storm drains they go, forever sailing unseen to twilight realms. I hate myself, and all I want is not to be who I am. To change from something tainted by humans, into a vision of purity like snow on a childhood landscape. Alcohol and digital ink, the only things that work. Necks on chopping blocks. The beast within, against odds with the shedder of skins too few. Sunlight pouring in through the blinds, these days are lost to me.