Split Into Sixteen
April 2020
Disputed technicalities aside, what cannot be denied is that
Our prelude was a watershed, the tilting of the hourglass.
Initially disingenuous, your chestnut locks caught far more than just my peripherals.
Intention mattered not, frown or no frown you became my companion and a good one at that.
Removing the rose-tinted spectacles from my feeble eyes, you realise the whites are reds
And the browns are dismal blacks. My palette doctored; the arrow pierces your virgin heart.
Capsizing farther into the void, your locks are wrists, pressure upon my futile neck.
Fading to white, the palette returns as the bone cracks. I am momentarily devoid of mortality.
Henceforth we birth our very own reality. Your wishes fulfilled; I am broken to be reborn,
Capable and reparable for when I end up in four.
Your grasp from my brain is inseparable, for I adore
With both hearts. Anaesthesia expires, nothing hurt until it did, tearing at laminate, you seize the box-cutter.
Wrestling, I am meek, my neck staunchly slashed, such as to peer at
The nestling spine. The chapter ceases and the novella collapses shut, not a single decibel
When only seven or so pages lie within.
Etched into the cover with the blade, my heart scattered in four locations,
Arterial blood spans the breadth of our canvas, your alias denies.
Was it my spine or another’s? It seems mine is absent.
Your shed skin over your shoulder, you enter all but the doorway of your own abode.
Double fragments beat arrhythmically at the dawn of my awakening. Am I destined for Godfearing?
If so, I am forsaken. Why was I awoken just to spare you from the lake, the river, the ocean?
Black swan bites the hand that feeds, retreats to the reeds for the severed hands to pet.
My beaten hearts unify for the undeserving, an international anthem envelops
What I thought to be a galaxy; elsewhere in the mesosphere my melody echoes back to me,
Mocking the empty throne at my right… I find you standing to my left, caressing but skin-deep.
Beyond my gaze preys the leprous servants. Their knees purple as their tongue endeavours.
One tires as others surround; my spectacles neglect the penis your lips are around.
Perchance, masochistic tendencies were established that day; my heart out of stock.
Throw my hearts in and lock, it’s over, the key astray.
Didn’t that cock look bigger sober?
Emerging from the ashes, my wax eyelids seep into the hinges and
Gone, are my spectacles.
Lashes deem my oesophagus useless, let my bruises speak volumes.
Do look, my knees are purple too! Not two but three beheadings later
My elastic neck pleads innocence. I sold you my soul, you can provide me a pillow.
Hoarse and melted, I am a spectacle: my painted fingernails drag my corpse about the cage…
I billow, excruciating hunger, my hapless hands fumble for the heart you failed to imprison.
Cloud nine comes only as a testament to ignorance, it seems.
I’m two posts from Hell and my heart is the carriage.
I should’ve worn red robes to serve you:
Raised credulous, I long for the spectacles you seat dutifully-
Gaze fixated; your colour adapts but your roots remain callous jet.
Limbs scraping along the concrete distracts seven hearts in your back pocket,
So sincerely I place the remaining organ unto you. Be there space?
Blind-sighted by the sea of fucking tongues.
Evolved eyes wander towards the chest’s protruding dagger, protect from projectile evil,
Glue themselves to the swords surrounding your vices. Beckoning is my reckoning, a guerrilla rebellion
Of chemical warfare versus the vile, abhorrent —
I am in love.
Retrospect offers peace within, opportune alternate realities in which
You served yourself with white robes.
My arms around your legs as you admit the truth, my hands around your hips as you admit the truth.
You lie, besides me.
Haunted are your memories, tainted are your gestures.
You stagger me, beauty defined within tasteful architecture. Genetic wonder, your lips gloss my own, lashes connect.
You lie, awake, your memories haunted, your gestures tainted.
Satin to the touch, your cheek skin blossoms under my lips’ blessing.
You are haunted, you are tainted.
We are haunted-
If you had a spine, it would surely be dust. Flaunt your feathers no more, my trust and your severed skull create a tasteless broth.
I care not where my sixteen hearts lay, they wither in betrayal.
Halt the torrents in pursuit of category five, upmarket settlement eviscerated as
Corrugated roofs loom in the devastating twister, cocooned among the wrath of your past’s inevitabilities
You are struck by the iron you replaced with brick. You pray for unconsciousness, a gateway to exoneration,
Though rejection arrives with utmost haste, steel beams strike your ovaries.
Entrance to your tomb barricaded by remnants alike, immobilised, you evoke a shrill howl, heard not by my long-deafened ears.
Manufactured eyes weep not, wall obliterated from defective sight, long gone your opportunity to do right
By me: My heart combusts, your sixteenth skin embellished at the expense of the obvious.
Stranded in naked despair, I teeter, a glimpse at the underworld sobers me.
Turf torn from crust to reveal bare and brittle brutality in the form of love.
My wry smile may hang by a string, arm limp to my nervous request.
Crumble alongside my crooked rubble, rejoice in sickness and in the absence of health.
Forgiveness, we are well acquainted, as an art you are established.
Tax upon my spirit extraordinary, its dissolution a testimony:
In my heart, I assimilate your sentiments, rather the rift among my ribcage dictates I am incapable.
Under your wing, I descend unto my fate beneath.
