drinking-poison

Intestines coil around barren branches and stomach Acid floats between grooves in the dust, Streams of black liquid melting into Cold earth, while Elsewhere, extremist limbs denounce their flesh; This is no body, only bruised slabs of meat Held together with little more than Rotting skin- a sallow complexion unmarred Except for the loose slash of a vulgar mouth. Bones scream out for oxygen, suffocating Under too many subcutaneous layers, knowing Escape is too many hands and not enough air. Or the ache of compacted lungs, An army of numbers Camped in a swollen gut, breathing the Sweet rancid stench of ketosis and Waiting for

There is a darkness in the morning light; Black spots cover wide eyes while Tiny fists curl around A rapid heartbeat, A thundering ocean of   Fingernails digging into sweating palms And bones crushing against aching teeth. There is no oxygen down here, only the Frigid scent of stale smoke, A hollow cough, The creaking of an unhinged jaw. Lungs close up with every call, and thighs quiver As cracked heels stagger from street to street searching for An unblemished sunrise, a perfect horizon, A silence without motive.

The streetlights deflected across the water and she could hear the hum of distant traffic, punctuated by echoes of laughter rising up from underneath the bridge. The air was cold enough to cause a burning sensation when she breathed, and she watched the air turn to steam and drift upwards. When she was younger, much younger, she used to pretend that she was smoking, that her breath was really smoke drifting out of her eight-year old mouth, turning her lungs black. Age had changed all that, too old for such childish daydreams, and too apathetic to consider the colour of her lungs, she reached into her bag, and lit a cigarette. She walked slowl

Sometimes loving you feels so strange to me. I wake up in the morning and picture you lying with her, and wish that for once you’d wake up with me, instead of rushing back home, leaving nothing but the scent of your aftershave and a few strands of hair in the sink. I used to follow you home, follow you back to her, and then stop across the road, watching the lights being turned on and off on your travels around your domestic world. I wonder if she suspects. At first I used to try and get you caught, I’d leave a lipstick print on your shirt-collar, or a bite mark on your chest. What I was trying to prove I just don’t know. Even

I wanted to write you letters about the Ocean, the grains of sand in water-logged lungs And eyes blurred by salt. I may not be a mermaid but I'll Hold my breath and rest My head in cavernous Rock pools like Empty hands, where scales, Echoes and fingers disappear. Do you remember? And bright lights could never touch us In the depths of it all, watching bubbles Move towards the surface, Exploding into air. We were closer to the sun On Friday, bathed in something With more pull than the evening tide. Hands shriveled from hours underwater Cannot grip your matted hair Or hold you back from Slipping on wet carpets. I tried to

You are caught somewhere between my Skull and the buzzing of Blood and voices. With my eyes open I see you Lying in a box of photos, trying to Stick together old love-letters. Someone’s fingers are wrapped around my lungs trying To squeeze the smoke stains out, And failing; when sharp nails puncture tissue So every breath feels like inhaling liquid ice. You are in my limbs With every stretch and every flex You twist around my bones, moving my hands To your own desires With no consideration for cramps Or crushed finger-tips. I wanted to swallow you, to keep your hands Inside a distended stomach, your cheek resting A

Picasso could not have made This face anymore distorted. Where there was once a mouth there Is now a vortex of Teeth unhinged from backwards jaws, And eyelids that open to show the soft skin On the nape of a girls neck. There is no mane of hair here, Only shreds of skin ripped from a rotting scalp. Calloused fingers rake flesh that is glued on the wrong way, Everything that should be deep inside Is balanced on the edges. One wrong move and Heart, lungs, kidneys; Will spill onto the floor And trip up an unsuspecting Someone. Without a mouth, I cannot say I’m sorry.

There is no obvious simile No easy comparison For this space between Weak lungs and a crooked spine. Absence never made my heart grow fonder, It only distorted feelings and Played games with mismatched memories; Situations we were never in are Now the focus of every beat. There are no fish left in the Sea, it's something we've Known since before It all began; when a chaste exchange And a phone call Could lift us from any imaginary apathy.