The Aberrant Ziggurat

CLXXX
madame tussauds kept
heads of lifeless wax
figures in her base
ment, each one a slow
upgrade from the last.
some deranged, melting,
half alive in their
contortions, others
striving to look as
human as art would
allow at the time.
eventually she
perfected the form
for all to enjoy.

CLXXXI
carceri, i love
and am unloved. that’s
what my heart says, at
least. my brain knows bet
ter. don’t you know the
truth? i ask you for
answers. do you not
love me too? do you
trap me like i trap
myself? circle me,
tell me or get some
one to tell me that
i am needed for
everything. hurry!

CLXXXII
long lines, black shoes. gray
clothing for rainy
days. allow the sky
to bleed onto my
coat. imagine these
gray walls and blocks are
an entire life
full of ruined dreams
and dying embers.
listen to teacher
confab about the
properties of the
life of an actor.
die alone, or not.

CLXXXIII
i’m a firebrand
of fucking greatness,
an elongated
vowel on the lips
of a lover’s sigh.
i take the sunrise
in like a strong sip
of whiskey, swallow
the shine and spit out
the warmth on my teeth.
i find the parts that
need to be touched; the
hairs on your skin stand
up as i caress.

It’s weird when you relate to Doctor Who because you realize you always end up alone.

the empty hole that
keeps nagging me at
night, reminding me
of complicated
endings and obtuse
longing for something
my tongue refuses
to pronounce. of all
the air that passes
through my lungs, i can
only hear the soft
whistle of the breeze
floating through that hole,
like a whispered song.

starlitewalker:

and the oscar for best picture goes to……damn, space jam again?!? 10th year in a row