dust and decibel

no matter what we’re on
we talk but we don’t act upon,
we shy from direct confrontation;
troxler breeds and we deliver
shuffled marks on elbowed darkness,
sucked and strained from standing effort,
eyes clawed out from spirits summoned
but returned to beds of comfort,
heavier narcotic spells.
roaring and rearing our emptiness fills up
the Void; drop sweet and acidic but
keep your best secrets for later.
quieter trips to confession that make
of admission a deadly mistake,
of trying a hopeless attempt.
say five times, and say it five times over,
back to front and stuck on an illusion
only teenage taunt could cast.
you speak, but do you see me on the sleeper trail?
do you know how many skins I’ve left behind?
sly and synthetising, we are lost between
dead colours in the crowd, hid too openly
to be found.
as tongues pinned down are kept
like habits of rejection we embrace,
high but on the lookout for a more exciting turn,
a more violent way home.
a shot that could be me as well as
hysterical pregnancy,
myth as well as dark reality.
the worst is still
in what’s to come.


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