flint sparks that your eyes blinked,
to mold to a centerpiece;
a cavity recalling the decay from my touch.
of lacerating silence plays while,
in marble stillness, shapes float
at the pitch of a nightmare.
whisper, “refuge” fenced in by
seductive war trenches,
littered by my many past corpses.
I am like Hades;
annihilating and cold,
collecting the tide’s souls
before they bruise my bones.
the secret of the stars; how they don’t float;
they hung themselves instead
choked by gravity’s rope.
That silent song
drains my fictive veins of blue,
It wants to make me like the stars:
I’ll shine when dead, too.
I walk, eyes boycotting colors.
Through windows I see
puppets pretending to be lovers.
the stars are their own confetti.
I am not like them.
I never wanted eternity.