Sirens paint in blues. Carry emergency red. It whispers an afterlife for the living.  Quarantine masks for the burial plotted. Lay awake and breathe through the shroud. We feed our bodies into indexes. Excavation crematorium beneath playful ashes. Leering behind linguist catacombs and archived cadavers. Hail reaping reaper… Please bear this alphabet casket. Consequential bubonic alteration, another numerical conversation. It’s digging shallow graves. Slack jawed soothsayer, be kind. She watched with her ears while split tongues rattled true false blades.

“This is the order of things”. Devine disciple contractions. Slipping reluctant scratches. Denied. Separate these stiff prenatal expulsion questions. Evacuate the foetus and crown us with a busy signals weary gaze.

Tender failure-ache. Just whose thirst does this slake?  Chimera, chimera. We take to wounds just a little bit easier. Eager nooses grin. They bloom briefly at last. Medusa offered and we live in stratagem. Place our weening wedding feet into wet coals. Open wide and castrate, plethora suffocation, an unspoken whim, or option reduction becoming too thin to hold. Swept beneath the flood of open ended prototypes. Category virus. Shifted shadows in the deepest of labyrinthine nights.

Reminder: This code is written by cipher. Another phantom script demanding sacrifices.

‘Innovation’ has made minor adjustment its queen. Centralise and isolate, keep static racing down rusted veins. An elegant creation shredding communication, like rupture spoken through calloused strains.  Ovulation agitate. A swollen process filled with weeping teeth that are covered in names.

Bare arterial wretches wrapped in silk. Disposable Flesh, your sickened ilk. Fashion breathes favour on vagrant shame. I’ve dressed a goat. The same, the same, the same. Fetish and imposter concealed by drape. A copy is a copy. Coffin text queries reminiscent origin cancer.

Mourn orchestra, convoluted asp looping through crystal juncture. This is genesis revulsion… They clamber, desperate for bells. We’ve jettisoned Arecibo. A search for answers or a cry for help? Looks passed over shoulders raise black birds from whelps. “This is genius… I am crushing myself”. Potential crowded by machines that sleep without dreams. The costume of life and deaths spectre, a slow alliance shift beyond the centre.

If I am unforgiving it is because you carved me out of mountains.