Untitled (the void?)

"Are you angry all the time because you like the way it feels, or is it merely a desperate defense against experiencing true intimacy with others?"

You look well

that rose tint sees what it wants
as it's whisked away sweetly
where this dreamy exposure
of october winds
and dim amber bled star lights
flutter against our moonbeam bleached skin
like a gilded veil
of translucent fairy thin wings
twitching and emulating
with therapeutic illusion
that's ultimately superficial
and exhausting
a fortuitous quaking
against the rain
and so eager to illustrate
that I am an artist on the best of days

one that's polarized
in coercive sensoriums
and thrashing along to a
ca-ca-careless rhythm
that ripples through all of this
static white noise
until the frequencies exodos
to the farthest depths of space
and existence
a catalysts of sorts
for a geomagnetic storm
coiling into the emptiness
of a stark
noir consternation
lacerated deep within my soul

i feel it spasm
manifesting as tangible
and protruding outward
from the core of a fleshy
guttural fury
before wrenching
into an apologetic hope
that ribbons up the shadowed curvature
of a soft jawline
delicately illuminated
by the kind glint in your gaze
pinning me to the cracked
depression of the concrete
and this atmosphere is utterly crushing me

and in the guise
of a quarter life crisis
all thunder
and ash
and a fucking violent act of god
counting down the seconds
before the drop
of a cataclysmic atomic bomb
so as to
not be out preformed
by my own little disastrous
micro creation
of a carrion world
and i I know it well
i wear it well
and i (don't) care
if i go down as a martyr
in the flames of my sin

oh yes
i yearn to pump angel
blood soaked sand
deep into my cloudy sick veins
as he burns the motherfucker down
from the inside out
paying everlasting homage
anti joan of arc style
and encasing a planetary scar
as a glassy memory
of my legacy in distress
rooted to the ground beneath me
a glossy statuette
left behind for you
to articulate across my face
in pretty finger painted cursive letters
that i feel fine

and as you ready to turn heel
and walk away
i just hope with all of the
staggering emotion that's left inside
of the chaos rippling
through my heart
that i look just as well
in that shiny
graffiti stained  
opaque expression
as you imagined
Written by kourtnissixxx
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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summultima cchasecarver
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