Stratosphere

At the searing edge of the stratosphere
Seeing everything for its worth
In its boredom and endless and screaming lure
With serendipity at the touch of those who lost

The chance
For the white
To feel the burn
The watch
Of the eagle
Swoon’s turning tide
With reckons beckoning
Five for dying

It’s all fair
I promise
It’s all part of our plan
I promise
Desecration is how we salivate
For the unknown

Easy on the blaze, sweetie
We’re all losers here
We only differ
In how long we think we’re winning

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Raptures

This is the voice that bites
I don’t need your superficial anti catharsis
Don’t spin your veils through my goddamned sphere
Stay away from my parchment skin

Am I not bleeding enough?
That you screech and exhale and halt the slippery slope of snakes from sliding through me
That you reflect a shadow of a doubled design that will only destroy the downed turquoise elixir
That’s pretty enough to enchant
And then deadly enough to maim
To maim every need of yours from my sorry sorry state
And wreck it over and over through and through

But maybe I want it
I want this voice to drive me fucking insane
To make my demons salivate and light their eyes with all the realms of my blackened raptures
I’m your victim

Impossible

your head’s tilted
to one side; you tired,
darling?
look up
let your
moonlit eyes coincide with
its reflection
in the sky; and in a bizarre
intrusion,
watch the rain, as it
wafts and soothes and drains
and
pours; let one tiny droplet
reach your skin
for every million
that fall
and let it learn of
your wonder; and then
let it find itself
with an eternity
of more
in a torrential halo, drifting and
floating; dancing in the disbelief
of having laid touch
on a being
they initially deemed
impossible