“My mind knows I need you used to the abuse so you will be of use. Lean in or lean away? Lips bitterly divorce, affection’s ashtray. Ear to mouth, I long to hear your organs and filth. Your future scales my ear, a pulsing premonition-cyst. I let you taste my neck like the thirst for knowledge, but I see all your salvation marks, Adam’s apple promise.”

Emotions leak through a smoke staircase, floating towards the heavens like little cancer prayers. My neck-strings stretch as I slant my head in an ache-filled direction. Does this help me think? Does this make me feel alive? What’s a worthwhile question? It’s interesting to know that today I will leave another piece of me behind. Devoured in an instant. Your hands and minds fighting for meaning, false-pulse persistent. Are involuntary reactions the most sincere? We have no control of them, so honesty appears? If it’s well thought out is it a lie? Human touch taints something perfect in a godless sky. My ear to your mouth, your filth sounds like a whisper of past lives you’ve lived through. Your future is a cyst, growing and withholding personality traits, disgusting and true. Your salvation marks can’t hide from the shape I’ve become. My words still carnal, you’re tied, soaked and mixed with the ash of impurity within the human spectrum.

Affection's Ashtray III
Adam's Apple Promise III
Art Film Fine Art Photography Poetry Writing Piece

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