I always think about my ribs crackling
under the weight
of a phantom's shoe-I love it with a twisted pain,
I live for that silent sound of broken white
and gushing red that's repeating in my head
over and over again...
glass lives,paper tragedies,French kisses-
my wishes are nightmares
and my desires churn in fleshy holes
a skin that yearns for ink
like dirt craves pulsating rain
and a mind void of all
I'd touch the picture of a saint,
but my lips are gathered ashes
waiting to sink...
my soul's already at the bottom of the sea.