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Seized at the seams
and unraveled;
visceral screams
echo for miles…

My crimson thread:
exhausted at last.


Flesh, gripping to alabaster bone,
blood, pumping to the metronome,
heart, the will that is our guide
soul, the truth that lies inside.


Dirty little things/
inside me/
scratching at my belly/
eating my guts/
and soon – very soon – they’ll/
seep into my heart, brain, lungs/
enter my core and I’ll
die, shitting myself soon after.


Silent fingers reaching,
eyes are all ablaze –
crowds are no deterrent;
read the answer in my
eyes to the question
that you don’t need to ask.