"Loaded Guns Attract." - Strange and poorly written poem of longing and deathwishes.

 

Devoured 

Tell me

That you hear it too,

The infernal clicking and shifting 

Of our cosmic gears

Movement of broken, time-seeping limbs 

Crucified on the circulating primordial clock

Counting down,

And snuffing out the light left 

Dazzling through our veins,

Marking the glorious and overdue end

To this failed age of man. 

Is it just me? 

Feeling the shadowed caress 

Bony, creaking fingers emerging from nothingness

Digging into our shared exit wounds 

Closing in on our rope-burned necks.

Life is leaving you, I feel it 

Screaming its way to me

Through every night

Summoning some form of mutual cataclysm

While my head slips off your spine,

Your eyes liquefy in my sockets 

As our tied-together tongues coil and snap 

Into shrapnel, 

And your kisses painfully depart 

The bloodied canyons 

Dismantling the landscape of my wrists,

I know you can feel it too, 

Sorrow has our house. 

-

Now in the shining hollowness

Of the empty, senseless end of the world,

Your name still sheds

From the earthquake in my lips

Spelled in the fiery firmament

With chocolate and piercings 

Rusted together with our embalmed saliva 

The tips of my degloved fingers,

Jutting out from my unintended burial plot 

Like flowers of bone and decay, 

Still smell like 

Your brand of cigarettes.

Dig me up

And read the regret and longing

Tattooed wildly across departed flesh 

Suck in the lingering cinders of my dreams,

My fantasy of speeding to a fatal collision 

Hand-in-hand

Our car drowning in the shivering sounds

Of You and Me and Rainbows. 

A shared, brutalizing death

Endlessly attracts.

But there was no room left for you

Within the rising sickness

That served to conquer 

My every futile future step. 

I wish I could go back

And gift you my skin

So you could have used it to blanket the static

And silence the multitude of voices

Yelling your name through dead radios. 

I wish I could have done something

More

To prevent the predetermined fall. 

I’m still devoured by you,

I feel myself endlessly wanting,

Even in death,

Wanting to be the mold and the clay

That forms the new you.

I want to be the writhing mass of worms

And perfumed dirt

That you returned to,

I want to be your cancer extracted,

The worsening infection

In your wounds. 

I want to be the aching pale lump

Jutting from the inside of your cheek 

Begging for the fierce clench of your teeth,

I want to be the glistening dust

Found as the only artifact

Marking our misplacement on this earth

After our violent and euphoric 

Merging into each other

I want to be the final moan

That composes your death rattle

I want to feel it shake my throat. 

Take me away, 

I can’t face life 

And I can’t face

Dying alone. 

I’ll be the failed unification 

Of all of your discarded, disintegrated dreams,

And make sure 

That our last kiss

Meets at the end

Of a loaded rifle. 

-