Saint Quadragesimus

Wrapped in blood, gold shimmers in the bronze pearls smelting across my cheeks, curled inside a zigzag, flesh blurs into an icy breeze.  Target garbies brimming with Immabe, nail-varnished pebbles scatter the person who used to be me. Barbie, seize the day, shudders  shake the clay, I pray you are safe.

My knees are cold, toes tucked underneath, hands speak in a cold sweat, dried on my jeans, squeaky clean.  I push my hair back and hence forth close the scene, fingers caught in tangled knots, scabbed clots, I chatter my teeth, aching for heat, princess turned queen, knights losing the battle to live, white night leaves me in a spin unable to breathe again.  It’s habitual.

This world I live in, culturally ballistic, actual statistic, holistic inner sense of solicited malicious prickly pomegranates.  Pip, plant me in and grow me, just to watch me bleed.  Precocious fifth sense, sixth scent, rock a bye babies hear my screams, lost in reeds to be born into iridescent creed, holy speed, angel turned her light out at me.

Carbon dusted with God’s breath, rabbit eyelashes in reverse gleam, headphones to my dreams, I lose myself in a half-whispered tweet, fingertips touch skin in a throat sweet, twining ivy tickling poison in magnetic feet, envelop me inside of your stratosphere, feeling nearer to my IQ resting here.  It hisses.  Serpentine asp, answering a question brave enough, never to have been asked.

Invisible band lost to a time reverberating, replaying, resigned.  Designed hands, needles pulling each second through each strand in your haystack, hiding my alignment, snatched it back from your grasp.  I speak freely as flakes sway into the scape, land before mine, I sing in your mind before you wake, drive a stake into your blind heart, I’m still no more alive than I was at the start.

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