A minus retracted, moving at the harp, presence weaves the dancers and triviality. He thinks but does not know, withering their memories along with his own. Adjusted by aperture, the negative has bled all about the room. There is nothing but inverted colour, traversed space and shapeless sound. If not for spread-fingered radiation shadows and history burn our hunger may subside. Nobody will care about the letters we have re-arranged. They were victimless and carried nothing inside. Just a projectionist tending a razored gaze. You mumbled “I’m awake” like it was a threat… Maybe you should take your own advice and carve those words into your chest. 

Slipped from the itinerary, this umbilical strangler. Our dreams may not be voluntary. That doesn’t make them spectacular. Remember, it’s a beautiful sentiment but you wouldn’t name your daughter futility.

These limbs, they grow and the knowledge will consume me. Victims of chessboard severance and ill-fated whimsical ties. Stripped, our only vessels bare fangs and cannibalise. It matters not. Cover your windows or worm into capillaries. Either way, we will be swallowed with the greatest of ease. The only fault of mine was the assumption that you were a good man. The naked white of a truth at its most stretched marks every groove of your callous hands. Cowardice is something you chose. To call you a man is an insult to all those who actually are.