There are always boys around.
Every night, a new one,
To feed from.
They always stay over,
They smoke the night away, in dusty hallways and empty skulls.
We pour our hearts out onto the floor.
we love the mess
I have to live alone, i cannot be judged anymore.
i am addicted to lying to myself
addicted to being surrounded by liars
addicted to falseness, to a sense of purpose
that i know doesn’t exist.
He flips me over
running his tongue down my crooked spine.
and neither of us are alive.
but like a light flickering inside the VAM
we are connected through the constellations
and he reads my mind aloud, like a manuscript.
i can feel his voice inside my head, pricking at old discomforts,
There are little sparks i can remember.
Neurons that used to be explosions,
are now little fuzzy, barely audible buzzes.
The butterflies are corpses.
The lights are flickering, low.
The wick is burning way way down.
The newness is lost.
The innocence has plummeted, into the gutters.
And i lay above it all,
on the streets,
letting the rain wash the flesh from my bones,
still feeling nothing at all.