“i guess this is what you were trying to tell me – this is what heaven is: fingers dipped in blood & starved lungs / “you quiver before god as he steals the light under your skin and call it holy call it sacred - tell me did you really think he’d forge you a halo out of your own grace ? he’d rather eat it”

“WHAT ARE YOU MADE OF, KID? 7% flesh; bloody and raw. and human (or so they tell me). it doesn’t feel like that though. under my own fingertips skin is too sharp. i am too sharp to love myself. 45% smoke; it’s all fog inside – my skull, my lungs – i breathe out and smother everyone in two miles radius. 20% hunger; i will eat my rotten thoughts just to prove a point. pray for my body, for i will forget who i am, who i could have been. 28% agony; am i broken? i am not sure. but my bones ache.”

“WHAT IS THIS PLACE? / Darling, here the gods died. Here the horsemen tremble. Here we bathe in gasoline. / Come, join us in our garden of dead bodies, we’re having fire for lunch.”

“Gods are not kind to boys who hold fate in their fragile hands. / We are the ruined youth, we swallow mud like it’s wine and pray to purge our blood.”

“i am blood and bones / beast in human clothing / unholy / wretched / thing / father taught me / not everyone has a soul / some are made of chaos / heart always hungry / claws always sharp / creatures like me bite and refuse to d i e.”

“So I dip my fingers among the green stems, delicately. / I lounge at the edge of the leafing pond, delicately.”

“…I sink softly into / the heartland.”

“In November, / the dread month, / they suck the childhood out of the berries / and turn them sour and inedible.”

“This is only the body burdened down with leaves, / The opaque flesh, heavy as November grass,”

“Snow, delicate snow, that falls with such lightness on the head, on the feelings, come and cover over the sadness that lies always in my reason.”