Stinging in the velvet, tears caught in drapery. An endless eye-sore. Digging ditches for those who dare to long; A warped shadow play; fantasies of one doubled. Solitary confessional screams in black. Tore down the sky, shattered star fragments held meekly in a state of transparency; take these hands held on by strings. Cut down prematurely; ribbon lacerations, hang your head tonight. Putting up the good fight. The internal battles are thinning and you find yourself alone. The walls spun colours the tongue couldn’t understand. Take these hands, pulling the strings. Struck down and synthesized. No vacancy, occupancy needed. Give me your hands.
A friend that bleeds is better;
you need me like a bad habit
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