era

You’re too lost. I’m too lost.

how many needles would it take? to be infinitely pinned and displayed as the fool who did it to herself... i am constantly enveloped by this lifeless bag of flesh, is it deemed necessary to perceive the world if i am not living? i have felt so despondent and utterly destroyed my entire existence, proof of truth and absoluteness of a "non-functioning" celled heart, as it carries deeply the certitude that i want nothing more but to go.

Cascading sap of molded tubes—throat webbed in hesitation.

They mature at sorry attempts of growing gaps betwixt my lips,

I close my eyes and I imagine he.

Intense notes of longing flourish dreadfully in arrival of your solemn lips' reminiscence, chased by the traces of tip-toed tunes embodied by remnants of powdery odor followed by you, reluctant to smooth over ardent fuzz in wishes to act as cultivation, devotion smacks itself for freshly squeezed sweat. I wish longly to be claimed by a tenderness soft enough to earn a title such as sweetly robust, in recollection of individual glands pressed by the whispers of a breath once enamored by thy, our petals of sweetness melt and harden to plastic in absence of thought, vicarious bites of love cede all worries from my neck-down. Serve me a benevolent act and please accept, in favor of bruises to at no time suffer from color loss again, ignite them with an influx of violet and iris hues, injected via lip service that mimic a circuit of hollowness, to be blended and buried by you means i will be reborn in vain, masked as a premise to which we allow our starvation/ hunger to swallow us, alas awful and mundane days expect me at your arrival.

Salvation rejects me despite my dirty attempt to soil in it, pavement begins to praise me, for which my steps follow instinctively, led by the notes of frankincense and oud. Smothered in it, drenched by disguises of myself, blessed by a faint, distinct smile as my body encounters your barriers, dirt and spit under my nails, falsity beneath my fingertips, the lines of skin fail to absorb a drink of purity, i remain unwashed, abhorred, and you feel it too. Whether it's the streets of the apple, the land for lovers, or the republic of learning, I remain captured by a familiarity that never met me and never will.