BONE TOWN
Mouths come to their end
speak only solemnly yet with fire tongues.
Dirt traps and privilege zones that fade.
An ego locked in a room, it’s leaking
analysing its body and textures,
I capture your throat like a delicate butterfly.
Rest on my stomach, eat you up.
Here we dug a grave,
here we shall let the sea kiss earth.
The door opens to that ocean.
We drip, a parasite and particle fly lightly
from this red room.
I soar to new delights.
HERE I REST, AND CAVE
I steal memories from the dead.
Ripping their departing skins
and absorbing the lessons,
that still reside in decaying bones.
It’s a scary thought, to lay so silent
as people take things from you.
A hand grasps around the failed heart.
‘I’m here to harvest rested thoughts.’
A whisper convinces themselves.
You want lessons, to move forward.
The dead can teach us things to avoid,
but you must not steal another’s journey
you won’t rest, you must scour your own living temple.
It awaits your tempted hands.